Timescapes
by Soledad
Summary: What if someone else was calling the shots behind S4 of "Primeval"? Someone powerful and ruthless enough to deal with even Philip Burton?
1. Chapter 1

**TIMESCAPES  
**

 **by Soledad**

 **INTRODUCTION**

This story is basically an AU version of Series 4 and 5 of _Primeval_ , as well as of late Series 2 and 3 of _Torchwood_. I don't even consider COE as a true part of _Torchwood_ anyway. Save for Ianto's sister and her family, who were cool. So, this is a version where Tosh and Owen are still alive but the Rift has closed – temporarily after the end of Series 2 and the team is out of half their jobs.

As for _Primeval_ , let's start with a confession: I belong to a small minority that cannot stand Connor Temple… to put it mildly. Yes, I know he's gifted; but he's also a spoiled brat who never does as he's told, gets people in trouble all the time and hardly ever has to face the consequences. It is particularly jarring in Series 4 and 5, where he nearly helps Philip Burton to destroy the world, despite the fact that everyone else warns him about the man and his intentions. I was so irritated with him and the whole situation that I decided to write a version of the events where he doesn't get away so easily. The same is true, although to a much lesser level, for Abby.

So, if you are a Connor fan, and especially if you are an Abby/Connor shipper, this story is definitely not for you. Because no, I don't buy that pairing either, save perhaps for the time they spent in the Cretaceous. But even there, Connor never listened to Abby, without whom he'd have died a thousand deaths during their one-year-sojourn, and barely got them back, his ego started to blow to unhealthy proportions and he was back to getting people in trouble and having to be rescued by them.

As for the third part of this multiple crossover, the only _Sherlock_ characters the two teams will interact with are Mycroft Holmes and his ever-present, mysterious PA. I added Mycroft to the mix because I needed somebody powerful and ruthless enough to neutralize even Philip Burton, if needs must be. We are speaking about the Mycroft Holmes of Series 1 and 2, of course, not about the neutered caricature of the later seasons.

So, these are the basic settings. If they meet your approval, be welcome and enjoy. If not, please, take us both the favour and hit the Back button, _now._ I have zero tolerance for people who ignore clear warnings, read stories they know they won't like and then complain afterwards.

* * *

 **PRELUDE**

 **Author's notes:**

The _Prelude_ takes part during the break between _Primeval_ 's Series Three and Four; in fact, some lines of the dialogue are quoted from the webisodes.

In these settings Mycroft Holmes is the true superior of James Lester; they are both civil servants with direct access to Whitehall, but Holmes is the ranking one, seconded only by the Permanent Secretary.

Prime Minister Brian Green has been borrowed from Torchwood – Children of Earth. Even though I refuse to accept that monstrosity as a genuine part of Torchwood, I needed a narrow-minded, selfish Prime Minister, and Brian Green fit these categories nicely.

* * *

In his private office inside the _Diogenes Club_ Mycroft Holmes was studying some _very_ specific files.

Files that the Prime Minister never got to see and even the Home Secretary only ever got heavily edited summaries of them.

Files concerning organisations and research facilities that officially didn't even exist.

Files that bore titles like ARC, Baskerville, Prospero, Torchwood, aside from the EYES ONLY mark.

Files that sometimes did not let him sleep in the night. Because these files were about places and events that evaded control, and Mycroft Holmes liked to be in control and disapproved of everything that was uncontrollable.

Which was why he got the job in the first place: because people in _very_ high places trusted him to keep a close eye on these places and events. Naturally, he _could_ do it quite effectively – unless some clueless, self-important politician messed up his system.

Like it happened with the suspension of the ARC, leaving them with an uncontrollable mess that needed to be cleaned up, as soon and as thoroughly as possible. And, as so often before, it was _his_ job to clean up after the Minister. After _any_ minister, in fact.

He pushed the intercom button – a heavily frowned-upon anachronism within the walls of the _Diogenes Club_ , but necessary for him to be able to work from here. Besides, he _owned_ the club, at least partially, so he could do as he pleased, as long as he did not disturb the solitude of the others.

"Anthea, do we have the footage from the latest job interviews for the new ARC?" he asked.

They better did, or heads would roll. He did not accept anything but perfection.

"Of course, sir," came the crisp answer, and his best operative (whose name wasn't really Anthea, and who was the only woman ever allowed to enter the _Diogenes Club_ ) hurried in, handing him a data stick.

"Anything of interest?" he asked, inserting the stick into his secure laptop.

"Several things," she replied, "and some of them may give reason for concern. But at least they have accepted Miss Parker as field coordinator."

Mycroft Holmes nodded. That, at least, was a relief. Miss Jessica Parked did not directly belong to his network of operatives, but she had been personally trained by Anthea and knew where her loyalties ought to lie.

Even if she was indeed a bit too young for his comfort. Child geniuses were unpredictable (his own brother had been proof enough), and sending a nineteen-year-old to a place like the new ARC was risky at best. But currently they had no-one else who would suit for the job.

"What about the new team leader?" he asked.

"Matt Anderson," Anthea handed him a file. "Impressive CV. He's ex-military, decorated for heroism, an expert an animal behaviour and extremely fit, too. Apparently, he even climbed the Mount Everest once."

"Hmmm," Mycroft Holmes studied the photo attached to the file with a certain amount of wariness. It showed a young man in his early thirties, with short-cropped, light brown hair and a three-day-shadow. It was an interesting face, with a shortened chin, a somewhat short, straight nose and clear, intelligent eyes, but there was… _something_ he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Anthea asked.

"Aside from the fact that he's a little too perfect, nothing I can pinpoint at first sight," he replied shaking his head in mild exasperation. "The Everest, really?"

"You think it's a lie, sir?"

"The question isn't _if_ it is a lie – it is one beyond doubt. Every single expedition to the Everest is documented and closely watched."

"Even the private ones?"

" _Especially_ the private ones, my dear."

"Because of the Yeti population?"

That wasn't really a question, but he answered nonetheless.

"Indeed. Now, since we _know_ that Mr Anderson is lying, one wonders _why_ is he lying."

"Perhaps he wants to impress," Anthea suggested.

"No, my dear. This CV," he lifted the folder briefly, "is not only too good to be true; it is absolutely waterproof. Whoever created it, they did an excellent job. And they didn't want to merely _impress_. They wanted to _intimidate_."

"Do you think they've succeeded, sir?"

"Well, it went through every level up to the Secret Service without anyone questioning it, did it not?"

" _You_ have just questioned it," she pointed out.

"True. But I am not just _anyone_ , am I?" he reached for the mouse. "Let's hear what our enigmatic Mr Anderson has to say, shall we?"

He clicked on the video file titled **final_int_anderson** , and the same uneven face he had just seen on the photo appeared on the screen – and it did not appear more mobile, either. Matt Anderson was staring at another computer screen with what seemed to be a permanent frown – but that was all.

His reaction was noticed by the questioner, too.

"That footage was captured last week, Mr Anderson," he said, outside the focus of the camera. Mycroft Holmes recognised the voice nonetheless: the questioner was one of the PAs of the Permanent Secretary. A fairly big gun for a mere job interview, but again, the Permanent Secretary was one of the selected few with access to the same files as Homes himself. "You don't seem particularly surprised by it."

Anderson shrugged. "I've been told I don't have a very expressive face," he replied in a flat, slightly hoarse voice.

 _That_ was doubtlessly the understatement of the decade. Whether by design or by extensive training, the man was sporting the best poker face Holmes had seen for a long time – save for the times when he looked in a mirror, that is. A grave effigy would have been easier to read. He found that… interesting.

"Besides," Anderson added, "after a month of very strange vetting procedures and a job interview at a top secret government facility I was kind of prepared for you to show me pretty much anything."

"Oh no, my young friend, that's _not_ why you aren't surprised," Holmes said softly. "You know _exactly_ what to expect when you went to the very first interview already."

"Where from?" Anthea asked.

"I don't know – not _yet_ ," her boss answered. "There are several possibilities and frankly, I don't like _any_ of them."

She nodded. Being a time-displaced person herself, she knew more about such possibilities than anyone else on contemporary Earth, including her boss… except that outrageous, flirtatious time-traveller in Cardiff, of course.

"What are we doing now, sir?" she asked. "About Mr Anderson, I mean. He's definitely a risk."

"What we always do," he replied. We watch him, we analyse what we see, anticipate his moves – and step in, should he indeed prove a risk."

"Level Two observation?" she asked, reading for her BlackBerry device to give the necessary orders.

"Level Three," her boss corrected. "The same for Mr Burton from _Prospero Industries_. I find his sudden interest in these… anomalies and his willingness to support the new ARC with ungodly amounts of money highly suspicious."

She nodded in agreement. "It did come a bit sudden. Why now? The ARC has been in operation for three years!"

"There must be _something_ at the ARC that he wants… or even _needs_. Something that even a Nobel Prize winner, genius level billionaire cannot achieve otherwise. Something that James Lester wouldn't just hand over to him out of the goodness of his heart."

"But if this thing is so important, are we really letting him have it, sir?"

"Unfortunately, as long as we don't know _what_ it is, we cannot hinder him in laying hand on it."

"I could infiltrate the ARC in a minor position and find out," she offered, but her boss shook his head.

"No; it would be too dangerous. Those people are no fools; should they find out who you really are… besides, I need you here. But the idea does have its merits. Let me think about it; and let us keep an eye on the new ARC. Let them doing their work for a couple of weeks – and _observe_."

Anthea nodded again, ordered the Level Three surveillance on both targets via her phone, and then returned to her other duties.

* * *

In the following two weeks Mycroft Holmes was occupied with international crises involving North Korea, several terrorist threats that needed to be neutralised, and a possible scandal involving the royal family – again. He could only spare a sliver of his attention for the things happening at the ARC, leaving it to Anthea to keep him informed about anything of importance.

It was fortunate to have a personal assistant with and advanced computer chip in her cranium; an implant that enabled her to store huge amounts of information, without having it interfere with her daily job. Having an eidetic memory himself, it took Mycroft Holmes a lot of time and effort to compartmentalise information that Anthea simply stored away in her implant until it was needed.

So when she came into his office and handed him a memory stick with the newest feed from the ARC, he knew something must have happened. She usually provided him with already processed information about the less urgent cases, so that he could focus on whatever crisis was happening at any given time.

The last time she made him watch an unedited feed from the ARC had been Matt Anderson's speech upon taking over leadership of the new team – a speech his behaviour analysts were still working on.

"Any new developments?" he asked, inserting the stick into his laptop.

"Several, actually," she answered. "For starters, Miss Maitland and Connor Temple are back."

"How?

"They simply reappeared one day; at least that is the official version. Miss Parker has put them up in her own flat, partly because they had nowhere to go and partly to keep an eye on them. She thinks that Temple had somehow got his hands on the device Helen Cutter used to open up anomalies, and that's how they found their way back after a whole year spent in the Cretaceous."

"Has he brought the device with him?"

"Yes, but it got eaten by a Spinosaurus that followed them through the anomaly. Apparently, Temple used it to make the anomaly implode and send the creature back to the Cretaceous in one fell sweep."

"Ingenious," Holmes admitted. "That young man has got a highly creative mind that works well in a crisis."

"Unfortunately, he's also a trouble magnet without any common sense – _or_ the basic understanding of discipline," Anthea replied. "Ninety per cent of the crises he's helped to solve were caused by his inability – or unwillingness – to follow orders. We should keep a close eye on him, sir; he's a menace."

"We cannot invest any more of our resources in the ARC," Holmes reminded him. "They are stretched thin enough as it is, since Mr Green, in his eternal wisdom, decided that we needed a budget cut," he shook his head. "One has to wonder how a man of such obvious short-sightedness has managed to get elected as Prime Minister."

"Short-sightedness is infectious," Anthea said darkly. "So is stupidity, unfortunately."

"True," he allowed; then he returned his attention to the task at his hands. "Anything else of importance?"

"Yes, sir. I believe you should pay special attention to the discussions between Mr Philip Burton and Temple at 12.6.4bvand 14.2.7."

Holmes fast-forwarded the tape to the aforementioned time stamps and watched the scenes. Twice. Then he stopped the play with a scowl.

"Make me an appointment with James Lester at the first opening in my schedule," he said. "It seems to be beyond time that we talked."

"In the _Diogenes Club_ , sir?"

"No, in the main office. One wants to make an impression, after all. And Anthea… send him the Wildfire code. He ought to realise the importance of the matter."

~TBC~


	2. Chapter 2

**Primeval crossover fic 01**

 **by Soledad**

 **Author's notes:**

Chapter One takes part right after the _Primeval_ 's episode 4.01.

In these settings Mycroft Holmes is the true superior of James Lester; they are both civil servants with direct access to Whitehall, but Holmes is the ranking one, seconded only by the Permanent Secretary.

Prime Minister Brian Green has been borrowed from Torchwood – Children of Earth. Even though I refuse to accept that monstrosity as a genuine part of Torchwood, I needed a narrow-minded, selfish Prime Minister, and Brian Green fit these categories nicely.

* * *

 **Chapter One**

As James Lester had learned during his decades-long career as a civil servant, there were three ways to get into Whitehall.

The most usual way was that one went there voluntarily to make some report, ask for support or mingle with one's peers in order for future connections… assuming one was already important enough to be allowed into those hallowed halls.

On less frequent occasions one was summoned by one of the ministers – or by the Prime Minister himself, which, considering the person currently in office, was a dubious honour at best – to be debriefed, questioned, given new orders, receive an honour or a dressing down… the latter of which, if it happened too frequently, could end one's career in the Civil Service rather abruptly.

Or, in the extremely rare case, one was ordered in via a _very_ specific code that had to be learned by heart and was forbidden to write down _anywhere_. Most senior civil servants didn't even know about the existence of such a code, and the few who did never received it. And it was good so, because if that code appeared on the screen of your phone, it meant that serious trouble was brewing, and your career would be the least of your concerns.

In all his years as a civil servant, James Lester had only received that code once: when Torchwood Tower fell. He was one of the selected few who knew what was behind the so-called terrorist bombing – only because he was already doing similar work at the ARC.

Still, having already experienced the shock once made it easier for him not to show any reaction when the code appeared a second time. He knew what he was supposed to do. He told Jess that he got unexpectedly called to Whitehall, shut down his computer, locked his office and walked down to the street, where a sleek black car (with tinted glasses) was already waiting for him.

He didn't wait for an invitation, knowing there wouldn't be one. He simply opened the door on the passenger site and climbed into the car, ignoring the pretty brunette already sitting there, working on her BlackBerry. Trying to involve her into conversation would have been futile – and potentially dangerous, as no-one could tell _what_ she was working on. Not to mention that she could break a man's arm without conscious effort. So he just nodded a greeting, put on the seat belt, and the car glided away with him smoothly.

Once in Whitehall, he was escorted to an office he'd only seen on time before; again, when Torchwood Tower fell. The man waiting for him was wearing a bespoke three-piece-suit, just like himself, but was at least a head taller than him, with long limbs, a round face, a pointy nose and cold, observant blue eyes that missed nothing.

James Lester was rarely impressed by his fellow civil servants, most of whom were, frankly, rather… limited in their minds. But nothing could have been further from Mycroft Holmes. Lester and his peers worked _for_ the government; Mycroft Holmes _was_ the government. Or, at the very least, the shadow lord _behind_ it.

That he was also the Viscount of Sherringford and almost disgustingly rich played but a small role in that. He had reached his position through sheer willpower, a blazing intelligence and cold calculation. For those who only saw his public persona, he was just a minor bureaucrat, working for the Ministry of Transport. For those in the know he was the most powerful and dangerous man in the United Kingdom – and beyond. Far, _far_ beyond.

Being summoned by Mycroft Holmes was a sign of the upcoming apocalypse – to put it mildly. Therefore, though he wasn't a man to easily panic (or he couldn't have done his work for all those years), Lester became intensely concerned.

Neither of them wasted time for social niceties – this was clearly a crisis of epic proportions, even though Lester had no idea about its nature. So he simply stood and inclined his head in greeting.

"Sir." Nothing else was needed, just signalling his readiness to do whatever Mr Holmes wanted him to do.

"Please sit down," Mr Holmes gestured towards the chair in front of his desk and took a seat himself. "We need to talk about Philip Burton and his New Dawn project."

"Of which I know absolutely nothing. Mr Burton is quite secretive where his personal projects are concerned."

"Naturally," Mr Holmes took out his phone and scrolled down some messages to check something. "That is why I am concerned. As you can imagine, I am not sanguine about this new public/private partnership with _Prospero Industries_. In my opinion, the government should never have shared control over such organizations as the ARC with privateers; but the Prime Minister happened to disagree with me, having only the many 000s in his eyes that could be saved that way."

Lester nodded. He wasn't happy either that _Prospero Industries_ was now used as the new location for the new ARC. The accidental lockdown of the whole complex shortly after Abby Maitland and Connor Temple's reappearance clearly showed how dangerous it was to become dependent on outsiders.

But politicians rarely saw beyond the next elections, and as saving money usually heightened their chances to be re-elected, it was a useless undertaking to try making them see the big picture. That was especially true for their current PM, Brian Green, who seemed to be even more narrow-minded and plain stupid than many of his predecessors. How he got elected was still a mystery.

Lester wished they still had Harriet Jones in the big chair. She might have been just a back-bencher, but at least her priorities were set right. Unfortunately, no amount of wishing would bring her back, so he, Lord Holmes and the other civil servants had to try and save the politicians (and, subsequently, the kingdom) from the consequences of their idiocy.

"I haven't even heard about this New Dawn project," he admitted.

"Nobody outside of Mr Burton's narrow circle of trusted scientists has," Mr Holmes answered. "We only became aware of it thank to the lockdown incident. When he thought he was dying – and frankly, we would be better off if he _had_ died – Mr Burton tried to tell your young Mr Temple something, but lost consciousness before he could have done so."

"I imagine that Connor tried to ask him when the crisis was over," Lester said.

Mr Holmes nodded. "Naturally. But Mr Burton avoided the question, promising the young man to tell him later. To my knowledge it hasn't happened yet."

And if Mycroft Holmes didn't know about it, no-one else would, Lester knew that.

"What do you want me to do, sir?" he asked. "I know that Matt Anderson doesn't trust Mr Burton, either. Perhaps I could set him on the trail, and…"

"No," Mr Holmes interrupted. "Mr Anderson is a capable young man, but I have the suspicion that he follows his own agenda, whatever it might be. No, I believe it is time for us to bring in outside help. You are dangerously understaffed as it is."

"True," Lester allowed. "But whom could we recruit for such a confidential and potentially dangerous mission?"

"Torchwood," Mr Holmes replied calmly. "They don't have much to do since the Cardiff Rift closed – at least for the time being; I am quite certain that it will open again, eventually. But until that, half the team can deal with keeping the Weevil population in check on their own, while we bring the other half over to London to work for us."

"I'm afraid Captain Harkness isn't exactly the person who would blend in successfully," Lester commented.

"Certainly not. But we'll keep him on the outskirts and only bring in when his… _special abilities_ are required. Otherwise, you will get a personal assistant, which is long overdue, and another computer wizard to help out Miss Parker."

"Doctor Sato and Mr Jones?"

"Exactly."

"But sir, neither of them is ex-military."

"They are field agents, trained in all kinds of firearms and electronic weapons. That will do. Besides, Mr Jones survived Canary Wharf and Doctor Sato used to work for the Ministry of Defence."

"And sent straight to prison for collaborating with terrorists," Lester reminded his boss.

Mr Holmes waved a negligent hand. "A minor inconvenience. There were extenuating circumstances. Besides, that fact secured _us_ her cooperation for the rest of her natural life."

Lester nodded because that was certainly true.

"The point is," Mr Holmes continued, "they are used to this kind of work and highly capable."

Again, Lester had to admit that it was true.

"And what are we telling Mr Burton?" he then asked.

He might address the man by his given name in private, out of necessity, but that did not mean he would like him… _or_ trust him. Mr Holmes shrugged.

"The truth – well, part of the truth. We tell him that these two used to work for another government agency but are no longer needed there and have been regrouped to work for the ARC for the foreseeable future."

"He won't like it," Lester warned.

"And I don't care," Mr Holmes returned with a wintry smile. " _I am_ the government part of this partnership, and if he believes he can buy _me_ the same way he bought the minister, he is sorely mistaken."

"He may not back off so easily," Lester, having interacted with Philip Burton for months by know, didn't believe that _anything_ concerning that man would ever be easy.

"Then I will dispose of him," Mr Holmes said, his tone turning to ice. "The research at _Prospero Industries_ is useful, but the experiences with Baskerville taught me that scientists left to their own cannot be trusted."

Once again, Lester nodded in agreement. As he had told Captain Becker about two years previously, there was nothing as hard as working with a bunch of rank amateurs who might have been certified geniuses but lacked any common sense. Keeping them – _and_ the public – safe was a nightmare.

Especially now, when – since all other scientific-minded team members were dead – they had to depend on a slob like Connor Temple.

Well, at least he was _their_ slob.

So yes, he was actually relieved to have somebody of Doctor Sato's format working for him, even if only temporarily.

Young Mr Jones not only had nerves of steel (having survived Canary Wharf and still wanting to work for Torchwood, whatever his reasons might have been, wasn't what many people could do), he was also a trained Torchwood archivist with a photographic memory. That could come in handy.

As for Harkness – well, Captain Becker would have to arrange himself, as always. At least he was a patient soul… as soldiers go.

"I assume you want it to look as if I had hired them on my own, sir," Lester said.

Mr Holmes nodded. "Send the Minister's office a formal request for more personnel. We'll see that it gets granted and have Captain Harkness, Doctor Sato and Mr Jones transferred to the ARC."

"That would spare us the job interviews and prevent Burton from interfering," Lester realised.

"Exactly. I imagine you see the beauty of such an elegant solution."

"Assuming Captain Harkness is willing to transfer half his team to us – including himself," Lester said pessimistically. "He's not the most cooperative man of the realm.

Mr Holmes smiled thinly. "It is fortunate, then, that I'm not planning to _ask_ , isn't it?"

* * *

Ever since the Rift had unexpectedly closed, half a year ago, life at Torchwood Three became very quiet. More quiet, in fact, that Jack Harkness had ever seen it since he had been forcibly drafted to work for Torchwood by the formidable Emily Holroyd, back in the late nineteenth century.

Oh, they still had the Weevil population to keep under control, of course, as well as the occasional extraterrestrial visitor. The Rift wasn't the only way aliens could reach Earth, after all. But most of those turned out to be tourists – or simply lost, in need of directions – and the others were dealt with with relative ease.

For _Torchwood_ , that is. They hadn't had a single apocalypse since the Rift closed – and _that_ was definitely a first.

The rest of the team didn't seem to mind. For the first time since joining Torchwood Three, they actually had time to do some work in their chosen field.

Tosh was in geek heaven, studying the most interesting pieces of alien technology and ironing out some glitches in her alien language database and translation programme. At the same time. While updating their standard equipment and maintaining the Torchwood satellite that provided them with safe communication lines.

Owen had begun to work on his thesis about Weevils: biology, telepathic abilities, social structures and behavioural patterns. The fact that he'd never be able to publish it didn't bother him the slightest. He was fascinated by the creatures and determined to understand them and figure out where they had come from, how and why.

It promised to be a _very_ long project, but if there was one thing the undead had in spades it was _time_.

Ianto practically moved into the Archives and begun to digitalise everything that was already catalogued, while cataloguing the rest of the artefacts that were still lying in haphazard piles in the various storerooms and hadn't been looked at since 2000. He insisted on keeping hand-written records as well, in case of a computer failure… as unlikely as _that_ seemed, knowing Mainframe's robust construction. She was a semi-sentient crystalline life-form, after all.

Still, Ianto stubbornly continued producing written records and storing them in the innumerable cupboards that filled countless rooms in the sublevels, kept behind sealed and secured doors. It was probably an archivist thing, Jack decided.

The only one who hadn't found any useful project to work on was Gwen; but _that_ was nothing new, either. At least now she had the excuse of being heavily pregnant. In her condition she couldn't go out in the field, of course, so they had no other choice than making her the field coordinator.

That wasn't entirely without risk, either, as she proved to be crap at tracking, despite Tosh's and even Ianto's repeated efforts tot each her. She was simply too impatient to focus. They could only hope that no-one of them would end up as Weevil food, just because she got distracted by something.

At least she and Rhys seemed to have mended their marriage – for the time being anyway – so the rest of the team didn't have to listen to them fight through the phone any longer. They all prayed that the peace would last, although they had no illusions about the length of the break.

As for Jack, he did most of the field work that was basically simple retrieval or Weevil hunt in these days, helped Tosh with the alien technology or Ianto with the cataloguing whenever he had the time, but if he wanted to be honest, he had to admit that he was bored out of his head.

It wasn't that he _wanted_ his team to be n constant danger; he didn't. He was happy that they were safe for no, or at least as safe as anyone working for Torchwood could be. But he was a very active person who had lived on the edge for almost two centuries. Sitting in the office, doing research wasn't exactly his forte.

And discussing baby names with Gwen didn't help with his boredom a bit.

So he was almost relieved when the landline in his office rang. There were two phones on his desk. One through which he interacted with the police, the Town Council, UNIT and other authorities. Quite a few people in key position, both local and higher-ups, knew this number, but it still wasn't public, of course.

The other phone was his direct line to Buckingham Palace (or wherever the royal family was dwelling at any given time), to the Home Office and to the office of the Prime Minister. This one hardly ever rang; only when some serious crisis was brewing.

This second phone was ringing now, and Jack picked up the receiver with understandable concern as well as a tiny sparkle of hope that finally, finally _something_ was going to happen.

"Torchwood," he said crisply.

"Captain Harkness, I presume," a soft, cultured, _very_ posh voice answered on the other end of the connection.

"The one and only," Jack announced brightly.

"Excellent," the voice replied, ignoring his attempt of levity. "Now, Captain, my name is Mycroft Holmes. As you've probably heard, I occupy a minor position in Her Royal Majesty's government…"

"I know who you are," Jack interrupted.

"I very much doubt that you actually do, but at the moment it is irrelevant," the posh voice sounded tolerantly amused.

"So, what can I do for you, Mr Holmes?"

Jack had been in business too long to be overly impressed by any civil servant working for the Home Office, and that included the Permanent Secretary. But Mycroft Holmes had a certain… reputation that warned him to show a bit more respect and cooperation than he would usually do.

"You can take Doctor Sato and Mr Jones and come to London at your earliest convenience; preferably tomorrow or the day after," came the answer. "My personal assistant will send you the openings in my schedule for the next two days; please do choose one and answer her within the hour.

"I can't jut leave Cardiff on a whim, without any preparation, and take half of my team with me!" Jack protested. "The rest can't run the shop on their own. One of them is pregnant, and the other is in a… err… delicate condition."

"Doctor Harper's _condition_ is known to me," Mr Holmes replied in a bored tome. "I also happen to know that your workload has been drastically reduced during the last six months. But if you think half the team cannot deal with it, by all means, hire some help… as long as you show up in Whitehall with the other half of the team in two days' time."

"You can't just order me to London," Jack began to grow _really_ angry with the posh git. "Torchwood has been granted complete independence in the Charta by Her Royal Majesty, the Queen Victoria. We are above the government."

"No, Captain," that soft voice had a cutting edge all of the sudden. " _I am_ above the government, even though the government doesn't realise it. You may, in theory, answer directly to the Crown; in reality, though, I am your boss, and when I tell you to jump, the only question you may ask is 'How high?' I shall see you on the day after tomorrow. Don't be late."

The connection broke before Jack could have come up with an answer – not that he would feel very inspired. In all hit hundred and fifty years with Torchwood, this was the first time that anyone else but the Crown would apply such pressure to _any_ Torchwood leader… and succeed.

He had the unpleasant feeling that their problems had only begun.

"What are you going to do now, Jack?" Tosh asked anxiously, two hours and a Weevil hunt later, when the team met again in the conference room.

Ianto was distributing coffee, ignoring Owen's nagging that he should have the bloody scratches on his upper arm cleansed and dressed. Weevil swipes were usually nasty and could lead to infections; in the really bad cases even to blood poisoning. The creatures lived in the sewers, after all.

"I'll go to London to see Mr Holmes, and you and Ianto will come with me; what else cold we do?" Jack answered with a shrug and accepted the industrial strength coffee, served in his favourite blue and white striped mug, from Ianto.

Then he gave the young man a stern glare. "Owen is right, you know. You ought to have your arm seen at. The last thing you need is blood poisoning."

"In a moment," Ianto sat down next to him with his own cup of espresso and closed his eyes for a moment.

His injured arm _was_ throbbing, and he could feel the first signs of a tension headache building behind his eyes, but he was every bit as anxious as Tosh to learn what this was all about. In his experience it always meant trouble when the authorities took more than fleeting notice of the existence of Torchwood.

"Have you any idea what the Home Office might want from us, sir?" he asked.

"Not the foggiest," Jack shook his head. "And _that_ makes me nervous. They always left us alone, and I would prefer things to stay that way."

"Can't you call, I don't know, the Prime Minister, or UNIT or whatnot?" Gwen asked. " _Somebody_ ought to know something."

Jack shot her an unfriendly look. Ianto had been injured due to Gwen's incompetent tracking – really, how could somebody overlook and already chipped Weevil? – so she wasn't Jack's most favourite person right now. Her uncanny ability to stumble into potentially lethal situations completely clueless and ask stupid questions only added insult to injury… quite literally in this particular case.

"The Prime Minister isn't the one to pull the strings, Gwen," he explained with forced patience; not for the first time in the last two and a half years. "He has the power, yes, but the real influence lies with the senior civil servants; particularly those of the Home Office."

"According to the government's website, a Mr Mycroft Homes has a minor position in the Ministry of Transport," Tosh stared at her laptop screen with a frown. "What does _that_ have to do with the Home Office – _or_ with us?"

"Nothing, most likely," Jack replied. "It's just a cover job; like Ianto's, working in the tourist information shack. I don't know what Mr Holmes _really_ does, but rumour says that it's not a good idea to make him unhappy."

"But UNIT should be able to do _something_ ," Gwen insisted. "You can't just go away for only God knows how long and leave all the work to Owen and me," her voice was steadily raising, sounding almost like a screech in the end.

"As if you'd be doing anything but talking to Rhys on the phone," Owen muttered angrily. "Besides, the last thing we need is Colonel Oduya poking his potato nose into our business. Ever since the Brig retired, there hasn't been a decent commanding officer at UNIT."

"That is true," Jack agreed. "No; this time we'll have to follow orders, I'm afraid."

"Gwen is right, though," Owen said. "The two of us can't go Weevil-hunting without the rest of you lot. She's dangerously slow with the bun in the oven, and as for me – I don't even want to consider what might happen if I got shredded by a Weevil."

"I thought the radiation at the Turnmill Nuclear Power Plant has enabled you to regenerate after an injury," Jack said in surprise.

Owen nodded, his expression sour. "Yeah, it did, but it doesn't work like with you. If I regenerate, I go into some sort of hibernation until I'm healed… well, as much as a dead man can heal. That can take _days_."

"And I won't put my baby to risk, just so that you can talk to some bureaucrat in London!" Gwen stated mulishly.

"Well, it's a good thing, then, that Mr Holmes encouraged me to hire more people," Jack replied, reaching for the other phone. "Hello! This is Captain Jack Harkness; can I speak with DC Davidson, please?"

" _Andy_?" Gwen opened and closed his mouth several times before she could continue, making the convincing impression of a traumatised goldfish. "You can't hire Andy, of all people, Jack, you just can't!"

"Watch me!" Jack answered grimly. "Hi Andy, this is Jack Harkness. I understand that you were thinking of working for Torchwood a year or so ago. Are you still interested? Because we're about to hire more people, right now. You are? Great! Why don't I meat you in, say, forty minutes on the Plass, next to the water tower? See you then," and he hung up.

"But Jack, you can't draft a bloody newbie without training for field duty!" Gwen protested, clearly not liking the idea of working with Andy again.

"Why not? I took _you_ out with me on your first day, too," Jack was already dialling another number, only half-listening to her protests.

"And we all know how well _that_ ended," Owen commented _sotto voce_. "What was it, twelve bodies at the fertility clinic alone? Or fourteen? I think it was fourteen, at the very least. And that poor girl, Carys, is still in _Providence Park_ , heavily sedated all the time, with very little hope to recover."

"That's enough, Owen," Jack said with a warning edge in his voice before Gwen could have worked herself up to a proper tantrum; then he spoke into the phone. "Hi, Mickey Mouse, this is Captain Jack. Listen, we're a man short and could use some help in the next couple of days. Do you have time? Great. Well, as soon as possible. Tomorrow? Now, tomorrow is fine. You know where to find us, right? Okay, see you tomorrow. Bye."

He hung up and looked at the others in relief.

"Well, it seems we're lucky. Mickey knows his way around aliens – the two of us used to travel with the Doctor together, after all – and is good with all kinds of guns. Now if we could only find someone to replace Ianto in the tourist office…"

"Ask Rhys," Owen suggested, grinning at Gwen's angry protests. "I'm sure he'll be glad to keep an eye on his little wife."

"Actually, that's not a bad idea," and despite Gwen's continued (and _very_ vocal) protest, Jack was reaching for the phone again.

~TBC~


	3. Chapter 3

**TIMESCAPES  
**

 **by Soledad**

 **Author's notes:**

Chapter Two takes part during the _Primeval_ episode 4.02.

In these settings Mycroft Holmes is the true superior of James Lester; they are both civil servants with direct access to Whitehall, but Holmes is the ranking one, seconded only by the Permanent Secretary.

As you can see, I disagree with the majority concerning Yvonne Hartman and Torchwood One. And I happen to dislike the Tenth Doctor very much. Feel free to disagree, but please allow me my personal opinion. I do the same with you, after all.

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

Two days later Jack, Tosh and Ianto made their appearance in Whitehall, at the time appointed by Mr Holmes's personal assistant. Said personal assistant turned out to be 'a gorgeous bird', as Jack put it later, wearing a supremely elegant skirt suit and high heals any other woman would have broken her ankle wearing.

She also seemed to have a BlackBerry device glued to her palm and didn't even deign to look up from it at Jack's shameless flirting.

"Don't waste your pheromones on me, Captain Harkness," she said, still rapidly texting, using both thumbs. "They _are_ potent, or so I am told, but I've got natural immunity. This way, please."

Eyes still on the phone screen, she led them down a long corridor to a lift, which took them six levels deeper, then down another corridor, until they were standing in front of a very simple, very stable steel door.

It had no name on it, not even a doorknob or a spyhole, but it did have a retina scanner and one to identify palm prints. The beautiful young woman used both, and seconds later the door opened noiselessly. As they went in, Jack absently noticed that it was made of five inches of reinforced steel. Clearly, Mr Holmes wasn't the kind of man who would take unnecessary risks.

The room behind the door was surprisingly conventional, though. With a large desk (on the top of which several phones and a highly sophisticated laptop were sitting) and a small coffee table with overstuffed chairs next to the fireplace, on the other side of which a life-sized portrait of the Queen hung, it certainly didn't look like the headquarters of some secret government organisation; although it clearly _was_. It reminded Jack of the drawing-rooms of rich people he had seen in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

There were two men in the room when the Torchwood team entered, both in their early forties, both sharply dressed in expensive suits that practically screamed Sawille Row (or so Ianto told them later). Jack was suddenly very glad that he had give in to Ianto's insistent nagging to wear a proper suit, instead of his usual superhero attire, and allow his hair to curl into its natural waves instead of the spiky hairdo that was his trademark in these days. _If_ there was a problem regarding Torchwood, he needed to make a good impression.

Besides, he looked great in the suit, if Ianto's dreamy face was any indication.

Ianto himself showed the usual spotless picture in his charcoal grey three-piece suit and aubergine shirt, of course, and Tosh looked particularly lovely in her light grey pencil skirt shirt and raw silk blouse. She had her hair in a perfect French twist and the strap of her laptop slung over her shoulder.

The taller of the two men rose from behind his desk when they entered and came unhurriedly to great them, shaking hands with all three of them.

"Welcome to Whitehall, Captain Harkness, Doctor Sato, Mr Jones. I am Mycroft Holmes and this," he gestured to the other man who was a good head shorter than him, "is James Lester. He'll be your immediate superior for the next few months."

"Excuse me?" Jack said after a moment when he regained his ability to speak. "I had the impression that – being the leader of the last functioning Torchwood branch – _I was_ the highest-ranking member of our organisation."

"And you still are," Mr Holmes reassured him. "This has nothing to do with Torchwood. We would like to, say, _borrow_ you and these two members of your team to help another government organisation. I assure you, it's only temporary. Once the crisis is over, you can go back to Cardiff and twirl your thumbs until that Rift of yours decides to reopen."

"I don't understand," Jack said, secretly relieved that it apparently wasn't about the dissolving of Torchwood or the handing over of their whole operation to UNIT, which had been a distinct possibility ever since the fall of Torchwood Tower – and something Colonel Oduya seemed to want very much. "You people at the Civil Service ought to have enough minions to deal with whatever crisis is brewing, don't you?"

"In theory we do," Mr Holmes agreed. "But there are certain types of crises that not even my minions, as you've so eloquently put it, are qualified to deal with."

"Crises like what?" Jack asked warily.

"Like spontaneously appearing breaches in the time continuum," the man identified as James Lester said. "We call them anomalies. They lead to all possible periods in the past _and_ the future, and more often than not, some… err… uninvited guests come through."

"Like an Iguanodon in a beauty school?" Tosh asked with interest. "I thought that one was a hoax."

Mr Holmes gave her a suspicious glare. You're not supposed to know about that, Doctor Sato. Nobody is. I wonder where you got the information from."

Tosh shrugged. "I've programmed Mainframe to monitor the news seven/twenty four for any unusual thins to happen. And an Iguanodon definitely counts as unusual. So does a Stegosaurus in the House of Commons."

"You must get in quite a few of false UFO sightings, then," Mr Lester commented.

"Some," Tosh admitted. "But you'd be surprised how many of them are genuine. Well, not necessarily genuine UFOs, but related to alien visitors in any case."

"So, you can see that we know our stuff," Jack saw the time ripe to take back control over the discussion. "What we still _don't_ know is what you need our help with."

"Mr Lester here is the administrator of something called the ARC – short for _Anomaly Research Centre_ ," Mr Holmes explained. "Until recently, it was funded singularly by the government, for obvious reasons. Unfortunately, a villainous civil servant made attempts to exploit the anomalies for her own purposes, endangering both the operation of the ARC and London as a whole. In the subsequent crisis, the leader of the ARC team was lost somewhere in the past, together with the two most experienced members. Another member of the team was killed while looking for them, and the Prime Minister decided to shut down the entire operation."

"It was a colossal mistake," Mir Lester added dryly. "A decision, I believe, the Prime Minister has already had good cause to regret. A Stegosaurus in the member's bar of the House of Commons – _very_ unfortunate business."

"So our crisis management team applied a little pressure, and we managed to have the ARC reinstalled," Mr Holmes continued. "It had a price, though. Mr Green insisted on a public/private partnership with _Prospero Industries_ , in which a certain Mr Philip Burton, the owner of _Prospero_ , will be funding the ARC. In fact, the new ARC is now located on his company grounds."

"Is that a problem?" Tosh asked in surprise. "I mean, the man is a certified genius; he won a Nobel Prize, after all. You can hardly do any better."

"Not in the scientific sense of the word perhaps," Mr Holmes agreed. "The problem is: the ARC was created to protect the public from whatever creatures might come through; and let me assure you that some of them are quite deadly, especially _en masse_. Mr Burton, on the other hand, seems to be more interested in the anomalies themselves."

"What for?"

"We don't know," Mr Lester admitted. "We've recently learned, though, that he's working on a secret project called _New Dawn_."

"Does it have anything to do with the anomalies?" Jack asked. "Is he trying to build a time machine or whatnot?"

"Again, we don't know. And that's what we need _you_ for, Doctor Sato. We are sure that a computer wizard like you can find us what we need."

"I can try," Tosh said, a little uncertainly, "though I can't guarantee success. But what do you need Jack and Ianto for?"

"You'll need Mr Jones as back-up; this assignment is not without danger, and he has the necessary know-how to work in tandem with you," Mr Holmes replied. "As for Captain Harkness, he's one of the very few persons who understand how dangerous it can be to tamper with the timeline, and I'm told that you have the technology to detect time disturbances. Is that true, Captain?"

Jack nodded. "To a certain extent, yes." He was not going to tell the man about his wrist strap and what it could do.

"And you're all trained with weapons, all of you?"

"Of course. Not every alien listens to reason."

"Excellent. Mr Lester and I have considered in which position you could work with the highest efficiency and decided that Doctor Sato would work as the ersatz field coordinator. That will give you access to practically everything within the ARC. Mr Jones will act as Mr Lester's personal assistant, and Captain Harkness will be the second-in-command of Captain Becker, the chief of ARC security."

"That way all areas will be covered," Mr Lester added. "And Doctor Sao will be able to keep half an eye on our ditzy little local genius and his ambitious projects and warn us before he'd manage to blow up the place."

"What will be my task, sir?" Ianto asked. "Wouldn't it be better if I worked as field coordinator? That would free Tosh to do scientific work. She's brilliant, you know."

"I do know," Lester answered. "Unfortunately, we don't _have_ a status for a scientist, and I would prefer to keep her at Headquarters, instead of being eaten or trampled to death by some random dinosaur. That would be a waste of resources; and I _hate_ waste. _Your_ task, Mr Jones, will be to keep record of the anomalies as they appear: their locations, the creatures that came through, the times _when_ they came through."

"You want a three-dimensional map of all anomalies?" Ianto tried to clarify.

Mr Lester nodded. "Exactly. Before his death Professor Cuter has managed to create a three-dimensional representation of the pattern and got as far as predicting where a new anomaly would appear. But _that_ was destroyed by Helen. We need to recreate the pattern, in order to be more efficient. Our main problem is that we often arrive at the anomalies too late – when something has already come through."

"Who's Helen?" Jack interrupted.

"Your not-quite-stereotypical mad genius who decided that Earth would be better off without humans polluting the planet and used the anomalies to wipe out mankind; or, at least, he was trying," Mr Lester replied wryly. "She was also the wife of Professor Cutter – until she killed him in cold blood, supposedly for the greater good."

"Sounds like a charming woman," Jack commented sarcastically. "Is she still around to wreak havoc?"

"Another thing we don't know for sure," Mr Lester admitted unhappily. "Danny Quinn, the leader of the old ARC team, followed her to the Cretaceous, together with Abby Maitland and Connor Temple, but then Connor got injured – he is quite accident-prone – and Danny followed Helen alone, leaving the two lovebirds behind. That's the last we've heard."

"From whom?"

"Abby and Connor have recently managed to get back home through another anomaly, after having survived a whole year in the Cretaceous. We had some… difficulties with Philip Burton to have them reinstated as team members, but in the end we managed to do so… with a little help."

He didn't say who was the one who helped, but considering where they were at the moment, it wasn't really hard to guess.

"So you nearly have your old team together again," Ianto said.

Mr Lester nodded. "We do. Matt Anderson, the new team leader, and Miss Parker, the field coordinator, are the only newbies."

"Unfortunately, Mr Anderson might have his own hidden agendas that we still need to uncover," Mr Holmes added. "Another thing we would like your help with."

Jack shook his head in bewilderment. "This whole operation of yours is one unholy mess!"

"Then it should feel like home to you," Mr Holmes returned with a thin smile that didn't quite reach his pale yes.

"Very funny," Jack's responding grin was every bit as false. "You're full of good cheer early in the morning, aren't you, Mr Holmes?"

"No, I'm really not," the government official replied, his smile turning even more sour.

Ianto seriously doubted that the man would be full of good cheer at any given time of the day – or that he would know, even in theory, what a good cheer _was_ to begin with."

"Well," the man in question continued, "I believe we have covered the basics. Mr Lester will provide you with the necessary details. Just a final word of warning: I do have complete control of the CCTV system and know how to use it. So, please, don't do anything stupid."

"Depends on your definition of _stupid_ ," Jack muttered – and yelped in surprise when Ianto elbowed him in the ribs.

Mr Holmes, however, overheard his comment and raised a supreme eyebrow.

"One would hope that there are at least _some_ basic parameters to define the term for any and all. James," he turned to Mr Lester, "see to it that they get the same information packet Mr Anderson has at his disposal. I want them to become familiar with whatever happened in the ARC, up to today."

"Certainly, Mr Holmes."

James Lester must have been a boy scout in his youth, because he obviously came prepared. Opening his fancy briefcase (a hand-sewn, kid leather one if Ianto had ever seen one), he pulled out three thick manila folders and handed them to Jack unceremoniously.

"These are the case reports of every known anomaly in the three years while the ARC was in full operation," he said.

Then he produced another two folders, both considerably thinner than the previous ones.

"Data about the year of our suspension are understandably less complete, but I tried to collect everything I could from outside forces," his glance in Mr Holmes's direction left no doubt about the nature of those forces.

"And this," he briefly lifted the last folder," contains what we could save from Doctor Page's research regarding possible anomaly sightings in the past. Being an archaeologist, she used myths and legends, trying to track down unusual phenomena that might have been anomalies across human history. Fortunately for us, she kept copies at home, so we have at least a starting point for recreating Professor Cutter's pattern."

"Isn't it against the rules?" Ianto asked. "Keeping copies of sensitive research data outside the base, I mean."

"Very much so," Mr Lester agreed. "But as you can see, it comes in handy sometimes. Just don't make a custom of it. That would cause… tension in our working relationship with Mr Burton, which is precarious enough as it is."

"Is he such a stickler to the rules?" Tosh was surprised. Genius-level scientists were rather free-spirited as a rule – that was how they made breakthroughs.

"It is more like that _he_ likes to be the one who bends the rules," Mr Lester replied cynically. "Lesser beings are not entitled to do the same, in his opinion."

"Charming guy," Jack commented. It was meant ironically, but Mr Holmes nodded.

"In fact, he is; very much so. And _that_ is part of the problem. He can talk most people into everything he wants them to do for him," he looked at Tosh directly. "Your name has still weight in the scientific community, Doctor Sato. He will doubtlessly know it; _and_ he will be interested. Be _very_ careful."

Tosh didn't even blink. "I've learned my lesson, sir; _and_ I've survived Torchwood for almost five years. No careless person can do _that_."

"Indeed," Mr Holmes showed himself unimpressed. "See that you keep it that way. Mr Lester isn't the only one who hates waste," he looked down his long, pointy nose at the other man. "They're all yours, James."

"Lucky me," Lester replied dryly. "Well, come with me, gentlemen, Doctor Sato. Let us get you settled."

* * *

Another sleek black car – this time without Mr Holmes's beautiful personal assistant, to Jack's regret – took the Torchwood team and Lester to a plain-looking house in Ealing that had been selected as their place for the duration of the assignment.

"It is government property," Lester explained, "although it hasn't been used for the last couple of years. It doesn't seem much, but I was assured that it is equipped with the necessary conveniences."

"Of course it is," Ianto said calmly. "It was one of Torchwood One' safe houses, after all."

Their new (temporary) boss turned to him, suspicion clearly written in his otherwise blank face. "Have you ever been here, Mr Jones?"

"No," Ianto took out a small gizmo and searched the frame of the entrance door with it. When the… _thing_ started blinking, he pushed a button on it. As if by magic, a panel opened on the doorframe and a highly sophisticated scanner emerged. Ianto stepped closer, so that a retina scan could be performed; then he touched his left thumb and third finger to the surface and finally typed in a long and complicated number code, using the touch screen under the scanner.

"Identification positive," a tinny, mechanical voice announced. "Facilities are available to all Torchwood Personnel with Level One clearance."

Ianto pulled a face. "I hate that voice. Sounds just like the Cybermen. Do you think we could improve it a bit, Tosh?"

But Tosh, just like Jack, and even Lester, was staring at him with open-mouthed shock. Naturally, Jack was the first to regain his ability to speak.

"Is there something you'd like to tell us, Ianto?"

Ianto shrugged. "All safe houses of Torchwood One are – _were_ – equipped with the same security system. They were programmed to react to the specific, Torchwood-issue scanners like this," he gestured at his little gizmo. "The security system sent an impulse to my scanner, that's how I know what we've got here."

"And it just happened to have your retina and fingerprint patterns," Lester's voice was flat with disbelief. "How convenient."

"I thought you were just a junior researcher at One," Jack added.

"I was," Ianto replied. "But I worked for the _Archives_. Archivists had access to all Torchwood One facilities. Besides I was being trained to take over for Mr Howarth as Head Archivist in, oh, ten or twelve years or so. I had a higher security clearance than all the others of my generation."

"But what would an archivist need a safe house for?" Lester asked, still not entirely convinced.

"To be able to hide, should somebody be after our knowledge," Ianto explained. "We were selected for our photographic memory. We knew all the security codes, were aware of the secret projects, knew where to look for alien artefacts or sensitive research documents. Of course none of this is relevant anymore, now that Headquarters is gone, but _all_ Torchwood One security systems were programmed to give us access. Well, _me_ actually, as I'm the only archivist who survived."

"That comes in handy," Jack commented. "Do you know where other such houses are located?"

Ianto shook his head. "No; I didn't know about this one, either. I'm trying _not_ to fill my head with unnecessary trivia. It's very hard to get rid of mental junk again."

"But this… scanner of yours can detect him, right?"

"It can, but I'm _not_ going on a discovery trip across London, Jack. We're here to do a job; that will be hard enough."

"Mr Jones is absolutely right," Lester interfered. "As for the practical details: a car is in the garage for your use; try no to wreck it due to reckless driving. The route to the ARC is programmed into the GPS. You have two days to settle in. I'll see you in the ARC on Wednesday, at 8 pm. Oh, and try to remember calling me James. Mr Burton… _Philip_ prefers an informal tone," he made a face as if tasting something unpleasant.

"And _I_ prefer a formal one," Ianto said. "As I'll be acting as your personal assistant, addressing you by your given name would be inappropriate, sir."

"He calls _me_ sir, too," Jack explained with a grin. "Not even Yvonne Hartman could break him out of the habit, and _she_ was on first-name basis with everyone, even the security guards."

"There's nothing wrong with being respectful," Tosh said quietly. "It is different with us within Torchwood Three; we're a bunch of misfits. But I, too, would have a hard time to call Mr Lester 'James'. It's just not done."

"Marvellous," the man in question commented with biting sarcasm. "Employees with manners. Do wonders never cease to exist?"

"No, sir," Ianto deadpanned. "They are just rare like hens' teeth."

 _That_ earned him a quelling look.

" _I'll_ make the jokes, thank you," Lester said flatly; then he turned to Jack. "Do you share your co-workers' respectful disposition, Captain?"

"Nah," Jack replied honestly. "Where is the fun in that?"

Lester closed his eyes. "I am relieved. The end of the world apparently isn't as close as I feared. Well, then; I have things to do, and presumably so do you. See you in two days."

* * *

"That thing," Jack waved in the direction of the retina scanner, "said something about _facilities_. Care to tell us what those are, Ianto?"

"In theory, we ought to have a sophisticated computer and a comm system with direct access to the Torchwood satellite; assuming one knows the necessary access codes," Ianto explained.

"Which you do."

It wasn't a question, but he nodded anyway. "Which I do."

"I wonder why alien refugees would need all these strict security measures," Tosh said.

Ianto shook his head. These safe houses weren't mean for refugees. They were established for the case that scientists doing important research would need to go to the ground, for some reason. Headquarters had… different priorities."

"I'd say so," Jack growled.

Ianto looked at him with mild irritation. "Leave it, Jack. We all know what you think about One, but we don't have to agree. _I_ certainly don't. I liked working for One, and as much as you personally halted Yvonne, she wasn't really that bad."

"She played with forces beyond her understanding," Jack said grimly.

Ianto nodded. "She did – but most scientists do, or else there wouldn't be any great discoveries. No new discovery has ever been made without taking risks; extreme ones sometimes. That's how science _works_."

"Yvonne wasn't a scientist," Jack pointed out.

"No, she wasn't," Ianto agreed. "She was a manager, an administrator, appointed by the government – well, by the Crown in her case, although I suppose that only nominally – to oversee the work of the scientists. Just like Mr Lester does with the ARC. Her decisions were based on what the scientists told her."

"She was obsessed with her hare-brained idea of the new Golden Age of the British Empire," Jack growled.

"Actually, it was your precious Doctor who first spoke about _that_ , after the first planned Slitheen take-over – at least according to Mickey," Ianto said dryly. "Of course, he destroyed the basis of that idea a year later when he torpedoed Prime Minister Harriet Jones's career, just because she dared to defend the Earth against the Sycorax."

"That wasn't the same Doctor, though," Tosh reminded him.

Ianto shrugged. "Does it matter? The results are the same. Harriet Jones was supposed to be re-elected for three consecutive periods. Had the Doctor not destroyed her career, we could have been spared both Harold Saxon _and_ Brian Greer."

"That's a rough simplification of things!" Jack protested.

Ianto shrugged again. "That's how _I see_ things, Jack, and wouldn't you be habitually wearing rose-tinted glasses whenever it comes to the Doctor, perhaps you could see his faults, too."

"This newest version of him is very different from the one I knew," Tosh agreed. "And it isn't a positive difference, either."

Jack gave them a wounded look.

"Why are you ganging up on me every time it comes to the Doctor?" he asked in what Tosh mentally called his hurt-little-boy-voice.

"Because we don't want you to get hurt again," she answered gently. "How many deaths have you already died for him? A hundred? Two hundred? More?"

"More than three hundred, actually. The Master was very… inventive, when it came to the killing."

Jack only had told his team the very basics of what had happened during the Year That Never Was, but that had been more than enough.

"And yet in the end it was _him_ the Doctor mourned; whom he begged not to die," Tosh commented bitterly. "He didn't give a flying fuck that you were tortured and murdered on a daily basis. I used to like him – the _previous_ him – very much. But Jack, the person he is now doesn't deserve your loyalty."

Jack decided to drop the topic. That wasn't something he did often, but he knew this was an argument he couldn't win. Ianto was heavily prejudiced when it came to the Doctor – partly for Jack's sake, but mostly because of Canary Wharf where, in his opinion, the Time Lord could have done something for at least the earpod-controlled people, had he not been too preoccupied with the concern for Rose Tyler. And Tosh, who had been on Jack's side earlier, also changed his mind after learning from Martha what had happened on the _Valiant_. She was a very loyal soul who held friendship above almost everything else.

Trying to argue with them was a hopeless undertaking, so Jack sighed and gave up.

"Let's take a look at those ARC files," he said instead.

~TBC~


	4. Chapter 4

**Primeval crossover fic 03**

 **by Soledad**

 **Author's notes:**

Chapter Two takes part during the _Primeval_ episode 4.03.

In these settings Mycroft Holmes is the true superior of James Lester; they are both civil servants with direct access to Whitehall, but Holmes is the ranking one, seconded only by the Permanent Secretary.

The scene between Matt and Gideon is directly quoted from Episode 4.03. There are some lines of dialogue that are also taken from that episode. Another two sentences are borrowed from Webisode #3. The rest is all mine. *g*

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

Wednesday found Mycroft Holmes back in his Whitehall office, having to deal with the latest North Korean crisis – there _always_ seemed to be a crisis in North Korea in these days. It took him hours of patient persuasion, skilled manipulation and thinly-veiled threats to smooth things over. It was so _frustrating_ to deal with unreasonable people who thought they were smart while being idiots, all the time!

Sometimes he was seriously tempted to allow mankind to destroy itself by way of sheer stupidity.

Sometimes the only thing holding him back was the knowledge that he wouldn't like to live with the results.

When he could be reasonably certain that World War Three would _not_ break out (at least not today), he ordered tea and decided to grant himself a few minutes of repose. He needed to clear his mind before turning his attention to the latest Syrian crisis.

There always seemed to be a crisis in Syria, too, if one thought about it.

However, with his tea came Anthea, steering his attention to one of the minor local problems.

"I think you really need to see this, sir," she switched on one of the monitors. "Live feed from the ARC team; or rather from their new team leader."

"So you've managed to place a tracker on him, then?"

Anthea glared at her boss with the vaguely insulted expression of a woman whose abilities had just been unjustly questioned.

"Of course, sir, it was just a matter of time! Their recent encounter with the Kaprosuchus gave me the golden opportunity to snatch his phone and replace it with a suitably upgraded model."

"Ingenious," Holmes admitted," albeit a tad risky."

"Perhaps," she agreed. "Still easier than bugging his phone, though. Bugs can be found. Alien technology is less likely to show up on their security scans."

"Torchwood has always been a valuable source of such things," Holmes pulled the screen closer. "Well, let us see what our Mr. Anderson is up to."

* * *

The scene offered them was a surprisingly bucolic one: an old-fashioned timber house in the background of a beautiful, albeit slightly neglected garden. The man known by his colleagues as Matt Anderson was sitting on a garden bench, looking troubled. A bit further in front of him an older man was standing at the bushes, with his hands in his trouser pockets. He had collar-length, slightly wavy grey hair, a short-trimmed grey beard and glasses rimmed with gold wire.

His complexion was an unhealthy one, and Anderson's next question gave a hint for the reason.

"How long have you got?"

"Months," the older man too a folded handkerchief out of the pocket of his light grey jacket, dabbed his lips with it, refolded it and put it back into his pocket. Despite the mild weather he was wearing a brown turtleneck and a burgundy waistcoat under his jacket. "Weeks, maybe."

"We'll talk to another doctor," Anderson offered, clearly not surprised. "Get a second opinion."

The older man, hands in his pockets, glanced at him over his shoulder. "Matthew, I'm _dying_. You can't fix this."

"No, but you can fight it," Anderson replied stubbornly. "We can beat this."

The old man laughed quietly and gave him a fond look.

"You remind me of myself when I was that age. Stubborn, headstrong… not _quite_ so good-looking," he added with a chuckle, ignoring the younger man's glare. Then he sat on the garden bench next to Anderson and continued encouragingly. "You'll be all right here without me. You're close now."

" _Close_?" Anderson was clearly not buying it. "I'm in complete darkness. I mean, it might be Philip, but I'm not sure. Connor's smart, but… Someone could be dangerous without even knowing. It could be a complete stranger and I'm looking in the wrong place."

"You'll work it out," the old man seemed a great deal more certain about that than Anderson himself.

"Was it worth it?" Anderson suddenly asked. "Your whole life, just waiting?"

"Of course!" the old man was clearly aback by the mere question. "Think what's at stake."

Before he could have continued, Anderson's phone rang. After a moment of hesitation, he picked it up. "Jess… Where? Be there in a minute," he hung up and looked at the old man apologetically. "If there's anything I can…"

The old man shook his head. "Forget about me, Matthew. Do your job."

Anderson hesitated for a moment; then he pocketed his phone and left, heading for the house. The old man watched him go and sighed.

* * *

"Do we know what the call was about?" Mycroft Holmes asked.

Anthea consulted her phone – or what _looked_ like a phone anyway. In truth it was a highly sophisticated mini-computer from the twenty-fifth century.

"Standard alert from the ARC," she replied. "Anomaly in a theatre on Cooper Street."

"Not our concern then," her boss said. "Let Lester's team deal with it; that is what they are paid for. Have you found out anything about the old man?"

"His name is apparently Gideon; whether it is his first name or his surname we don't know yet. He's been living in that house," Anthea rattled down the address, "for the last ten years. His previous address and his occupation are unknown at the moment, but we're working on it. The problem is, there don't seem to be _any_ records about him further back than ten years."

"Family? Acquaintances?"

"As I said, no older records, sir. According to CCTV he has barely left the house in the last decade, save for short trips to the hospital, and the only people visiting him are his doctor… and Mr. Anderson, of course. He has a housekeeper, a Mrs Smith, an elderly woman from the neighbourhood, but she doesn't live in the house itself. She is there eight hours a day, but that is all."

"Mr Gideon appears to be in a terminal condition, though…"

"Yes, sir. At least we've found some records in the hospital about _that_. He's suffering from catastrophic organ failure: his organs are shutting down, one after another. He needs regular dialysis and has a pacemaker with built-in defibrillator, but his lungs are damaged the worst. As if he'd been inhaling poisonous fumes for an extended period of time."

"The reason for this condition?"

"Unknown, sir, but we're working on that, too."

"Work faster. This man is the key to whatever Mr Anderson is up to. If he dies before we had found out Anderson's hidden agenda, we'll lose a valuable pressure point."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

About an hour earlier the Torchwood Three team had finally found their way to the ARC's headquarters. At the entrance they were greeted by a young woman who looked about sixteen – definitely too young for working in such a dangerous place, Jack found. But again, the same had been true for Ianto, when he first hired on for Torchwood.

"Welcome to the ARC," the girl said brightly. "I'm Jess Parker, your friendly field coordinator. Lester asked me to bring you in, since you don't have your IDs yet. Follow me."

She led them into what had to be the operations centre of the ARC: a huge, dimly-lit room equipped with the best, up-to-date monitoring equipment, a lot of which wasn't even available for the general public yet. If Tosh didn't know better, she would suspect that the computers and viewscreens were enhanced by alien technology; certain parallels to their own Hub couldn't be overlooked.

Of course, if the equipment came from _Prospero Industries_ , that would explain it. _Prospero_ was owned and run by the man who invented the room-temperature superconductor, after all.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Jess who told her to hold out her wrist. When she obeyed, the girl snapped a flexible bracelet made of some sort of plastic-metal alloy on her wrist.

"Your ID matches a reading of your skin scales to gain entry," the girl explained, "and it won't work for anyone else if you loose it."

"Ingenious," Ianto admitted. "A bit paranoid perhaps, but ingenious nonetheless."

"Why, thank you," a voice said and a wiry, elegantly greying man in his forties appeared on one of the balconies.

He had a neatly trimmed beard, his features spoke of Middle-Eastern origins (at least partially), and he was wearing a dark blue suit without a waistcoat.

"If you had to battle industrial espionage as much as I have, you'd be a bit paranoid, too," he bounded down the staircase with youthful energy and proffered his hand to Tosh first. "Welcome to the ARC, Doctor Sato. I am Philip Burton."

"You know me?" Understandably, Tosh was more than a little shocked.

"Not personally, of course," Philip flashed her a charming smile. "But I do know about your amazing work for the Ministry of Defence. Building a functional sonic weapon on the basis of faulty blueprints isn't something many people would be able to do."

"You are not supposed to know _that_ ," James Lester stepped out of his office and glared at Burton. " _Nobody_ is supposed to know that. How _do_ you know about it?"

"The government isn't the only one who knows things, James," Philip replied with a negligent wave. "You'd be surprised by the amount of information money can buy," he flashed Tosh another charming smile. "I'm looking forward to working with you, Doctor Sato; I'm sure it will be a delight."

And with that he returned to whatever he was doing upstairs.

"No," Lester said dryly, to nobody in particular. "No, I don't think I'd be surprised." Then he shook himself mentally and went on to introduce the new members to the rest of the team – and vice versa. "Your team-mates: Abby Maitland, Connor Temple and Captain Beckett."

Jack eyed the ARC team with interest. The girl was a cute, doll-faced blonde and the young man obviously the ultimate geek – the sort that _always_ gets in trouble, despite his intelligence, and needs rescuing. Still, he and Abby _had_ survived a year long in the Cretaceous on their own, which was no small feat, although Jack assumed it was more the girl's doing. She had to be as tough as nails to keep Connor alive, and was currently watching the newcomers with vague suspicion.

As for Captain Becker, he was stereotypically tall, dark and handsome – almost too pretty for a professional soldier – and stared at Ianto in a manner that made Jack wish to punch him in the nose.

Lester didn't notice any of this and continued his introductions.

"And these are your new co-workers: Doctor Toshiko Sato, who will share field coordinator duty with Jess; Captain Jack Harkness, who'll be second-in-command to Captain Becker; and my new personal assistant, Ianto Jones."

The Torchwood gang shook hands with Abby and Connor, but Becker was still staring at Ianto in shock.

"Jonesy?" he finally stammered, surprising Tosh and Jack who knew that this used to be Ianto's nickname at One – and _only_ at One. "I never knew you were one of those who made it out of Canary Wharf."

Ianto looked at him in surprise. "Do I know you, Captain?"

Becker shook his head. "Unlikely. I was just a lieutenant, one of the many junior officers guarding Torchwood Tower; and I was fairly new, too. But we were all instructed to keep an eye on the archivists and protect them by all means necessary. We didn't do a very good job, did we?" he added ruefully.

Ianto shrugged, his eyes dark with horrible memories. "You didn't really have a chance against those monsters. It wasn't your fault."

"I wasn't even there when it happened," Becker admitted. "I was lying in hospital with a broken leg, being totally useless."

"Be grateful," Ianto replied dryly. "It wouldn't have made any difference; except that you'd be dead, too."

Lester looked back and forth between them, as if watching a tennis match.

"You worked for Torchwood, too?" he asked Becker, utterly surprised.

The soldier shrugged. "You didn't really believe I was selected for this job because of my dinosaur-taming skills, did you?"

"And I thought it was your pretty face," Jack commented with a lewd grin.

Jess, listening to them with great interest, suddenly became beet red due to the outpour of fifty-first-century pheromones. Even Abby and Connor gasped for air for a moment.

"Careful, that's harassment, sir," Ianto deadpanned and Tosh suppressed a grin.

"No," Becker pulled himself together with some effort. "It is called fraternisation, and it is against the rules. I wasn't with One long, but even I heard about you, Harkness. Try it again, and I'll break your nose."

"Is that a threat, Captain, my Captain," Jack's voice was cold and somewhat menacing; Connor gulped and made an involuntary step back.

Becker, on the other hand, didn't even blink.

"No, Captain; that is a promise," he replied coldly. "You may have been the big boss in Cardiff, but _I am_ the ranking officer here, and you'll do as I say, or I'll throw your sorry arse in the brig before you can make the next innuendo."

Tosh and Ianto winced; threatening Jack with the brig after having been buried alive for two millennia wasn't really a wise move; but again, how was Becker supposed to know _that_? Fortunately, Jess – apparently a sensitive soul – chose to run interference in that very moment.

"Err… Becker, we don't _have_ a brig here," she reminded the irate soldier.

"Yeah, yeah, I was speaking metaphorically," Becker waved impatiently. "My point is: we take the rules more seriously here as it was – perhaps still is – the custom at Three, and you'd better get used to it – all of you. I don't have time to waste for disciplinary actions."

"Don't worry," Ianto grinned. "Keeping Jack in line is my job."

"Really? And how do you manage it? From what I've heard at One, it is an impossible task."

"By threatening him with decaf," Ianto explained. "Works like a charm every time."

"Ianto is our coffee god," Tosh added. "You wouldn't even know the true meaning of coffee until you've tasted his."

"I prefer tea, thank you," Lester said stiffly and walked off.

"Tea is for posh gits," Ianto commented _sotto voce_ , and Abby and Connor almost choked on their forcibly suppressed laughter.

"Hey!" Jack protested. "The Doctor _loved_ tea!"

"Exactly," Ianto returned with a bland smile, and now Tosh had a very hard time _not_ to laugh, too.

Before Jack could have found a suitably sharp answer, the alarm klaxons started blearing and everyone ran to Jess's incredibly sophisticated monitoring station. Jess was the first to reach it, of course, and was already running a search by the time the others caught up with her.

"Okay, what have we got?" Connor asked, leaning over her shoulder.

Jess had already triangulated the location. "It's a theatre in Cooper Street."

"Nothing like a head start for our newbies," Becker began distributing small, flat black devices. "Temple… Abby… Harkness… Where the hell is Matt?"

"I'll hunt him down," Jess offered.

Becker nodded. "Send him directly to the theatre," he looked at the others. "Let's go."

They were about to run out of the operations centre when Philip Burton reappeared on the balcony.

"Connor, I need your help."

The boy came to an abrupt halt, nearly stumbling over his own feet, looking unhappy. "Ah, it's an alert…I should…" he gestured in the vague direction of the exit.

" _This_ is more important," Philip patted the briefcase under his arm. "I need you to run the new security protocol, check for glitches."

" _Really_?" Connor's incredulous tone revealed what he thought about the idea; and _that_ obviously wasn't flattering. "Can it not wait? 'Cause I really should be with..." he waves at his team-mates.

Philip, however, wasn't backing off. "The core team has military training. _You_ have other skills."

It was clearly an order disguised as a compliment, but Connor was still staring mutinously. Tosh decided to interfere, for the sake of the entire team.

"Mr. Burton, do you think I could run that security protocol for you?" she asked. "I don't know a thing about prehistoric monsters, so I'd be fairly useless in the field; but I'm very good with computers."

Philip hesitated for a moment between getting his wish and getting the chance to work with somebody of her calibre, and in the end professional interests won out. Just as Tosh had hoped it would. Connor, greatly relieved, mouthed _I owe you_ in her direction and rushed out after the others. Tosh followed Philip, hearing with half an ear Jess trying to reach their team leader.

"Matt, it's Jess. Can you call me back, please?" then in a much lower, urgent voice, "Matt, answer your phone!"

"I've designed a new bio-scan," Philip explained as they crossed the room and climbed the short staircase to the upper level.

Tosh feigned ignorance the man didn't need to know how much she already knew about the most recent ARC affairs.

"Do you expect intrusions here, at Headquarters?" she asked innocently.

"Anomalies can appear _anywhere_ ; that's why they're so fascinating," Philip explained. "Besides, our menagerie isn't as well secured as it should be, and after the latest incident I'm not willing to take any risks."

Entering a small, nondescript office, he took a laptop out of his briefcase, put it down on one of the empty desks and opened the lid.

"This will automatically respond to any escaped creature in the ARC," he said, starting the program.

"It's neat," Tosh admitted, after having studied the parameters for a couple of minutes. It wasn't as good as the Rift alert program back in Cardiff, but it didn't have to cover the entire town, either. For local purposes it was excellent indeed.

Philip beamed at her like a child who'd just been offered a treat.

"Very neat," h was clearly proud of his work, and with a good reason. "I built this system on top of Connor's from the old ARC. What I want you to do is make sure the existing ARC systems are compatible before this scan goes live."

Tosh nodded. "I'll get it up and running at once."

She was secretly pleased. Oh, not by the task itself; any computer-literate technician could do _that_. But it gave her the unique chance to get access to the entire security system of the ARC, without having to hack it. Besides, it wasn't as if she hadn't had to perform menial tasks at Torchwood, too.

"Great!" Philip beamed at her again. "We'll have a full dress rehearsal," he pumped his fist in the air triumphantly. "Rock 'n' roll. I know it's not as thrilling as running after an overgrown lizard, but I promise you, one day, this will save lives."

His eyes were sparkling with excitement, and Tosh understood why Mr Holmes had warned her; he _was_ charming, _and_ he was a certified genius that treated her as an equal – something that hadn't happened to her for a _very_ long time."

"Believe me, I've had all the thrill one can bear in the last five years with Torchwood," she said, smiling.

He grinned back. "Call me if you need me," and returned to his own office, in the reassuring knowledge that his system was in good hands."

* * *

In the meantime that rest of the team plus a security detail reached the theatre in Cooper street.

"Door's open," Becker said. "Matt must be here already."

But when they entered, armed with EM guns and torches, they found the auditorium was empty.

"Sweep the theatre for any sign of incursion," Beckett ordered the security detail. "We will lock the anomaly."

"Matt's signal's coming from backstage," Connor told them, studying his hand-held scanner.

Beckett nodded. "That's where the anomaly will be, then. Come with us, Harkness; this is something you ought to see."

Jack followed them without protests; he was eager to finally see one of the mysterious anomalies with his own eyes. It was something _new_ , and he did not get to see new things often. Besides, though working on similar principles, the Rift wasn't _visible_ ; neither would anyone in their right minds try to go through it. These people, however, went through these anomalies on a regular basis; or, at least, they _used_ to, before the rules would grow more strict.

The backstage area was… well, creepy. Full of old props and costumes (including a life-sized shop window mannequin with a sword through its head), dimly lit and smelling of dust and old clothes. And in the middle of it something like a frozen starburst of glowing, shattered pieces of glass was floating and rotating in mid-air, large enough for a grown man to walk through it.

Of Matt Anderson there was no sign.

Abby was speaking into her headset. "We're backstage, Jess. We've located the anomaly."

"Matt should be right behind you," the chirpy voice of their field coordinator answered.

Becker, Abby and Connor exchanged confused looks.

"Go and find him," Becker ordered. "Connor, help me!"

They opened a metal suitcase and put together an odd-looking construction that could have been snatched from a child's construction set, crowned with what seemed to be the giant representation of the flu virus. Whatever it was, they aimed it at the centre of the anomaly and switched on.

Jack's sensitive ears – not to mention his sixth sense that reacted to electromagnetic impulses, something everyone on his temporally distant home planet possessed – noticed a strong emission coming from the thing. So strong indeed that it physically hurt his ears. The anomaly warbled for a moment; then it suddenly shrank to a tenth of its original size and took on the shape of a glowing bauble of light – like some oversized Christmas ornament.

"Is it closed now?" Jack asked.

The anomaly fascinated him. During his travels with the Doctor, not to mention his years as a time Agent, he had seen many stunning things that went far beyond human imagination. But _those_ were cosmic phenomena, accessible by TARDIS or spaceship only. The anomalies were here, on twenty-first century Earth, right at mankind's fingertips.

 _The twenty-first century is when everything changes_ , the words of Alex Hopkins echoed in his mind. He wondered now if his predecessor at Torchwood Three had ever had an anomaly experience; if he had perhaps gone through one and saw a future in which he didn't want to live.

"No, it isn't closed," Connor answered to his question. "It's just locked, so that nothing can come through. In this form it isn't dangerous. We can wait until it closes on its own."

"Which doesn't mean we won't guard it until it happens, of course," Becker added and Jack had to admit that it was the prudent thing to do – if one had enough manpower to do so.

"Becker, over here!" Abby, who was still looking for Matt, suddenly cried.

They pushed through the ridiculous and smelly costumes, following her voice, and found her on the other end of the backstage area, leaning over a motionless woman in old-fashioned clothes. Her eyes were wide with shock.

"She's dead."

"But not for long," Jack crouched down to feel for the carotid pulse; he found none. Then he lifted one limp hand and let it fall again. "The _rigor mortis_ hasn't set on yet."

"There are no injuries on her," Connor remarked, sounding surprised. "What has she died of?"

Jack shrugged. "No idea. I wish we had Owen here; he'd tell you in record time. Do you have a doctor on your team?"

Becker shook his head. "We'll have her taken to the morgue of _St Bartholomew's_ ," he touched his headset and made the request for the body to be collected.

"So, that's been taken care of," he then said. "Let's find Matt and go back to the ARC."

The others moved on, with the exception of Jack, who remained back for a moment to listen. He had the feeling that something – or _someone_ – was in there with them, but he couldn't quite pinpoint the source of the feeling. Still, all his instincts screamed _danger_ , and he knew better than to ignore them.

Becker turned back. "Something wrong with you, Harkness?"

"I don't know," Jack replied with a frown. "I thought I had heard something, but I'm not sure."

"Let's see what the others have found," Becker suggested. "Come on."

~TBC~


	5. Chapter 5

**TIMESCAPES  
**

 **by Soledad**

 **Author's notes:**

Chapter Four takes part during the _Primeval_ episode 4.03.

There are some lines of dialogue that are taken from that episode. The rest is all mine. *g*

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

"No sign of incursion, _or_ Mr Anderson," One of the soldiers summarised the results of their search.

"So, where _is_ he?" Abby asked, sounding frustrated. "Jess, anything?"

"I've checked the CCTV," their field coordinator replied. "He hasn't left the theatre."

"At least not through the door," Jack said slowly.

Becker shook his head. "Forget it. He'd never go through. He knows the rules. No expeditions, no search parties, no rescue. Besides, if he's been dragged through by a creature, he's already dead."

"You can't be sure of that!" Abby argued. "We should at least keep the anomaly open for a while; give him the chance to return.

"You know it's the right thing to do," Connor supported his girlfriend. "Come on, mate."

Becker shook his head. "No, we keep searching the theatre."

"You won't find him here, you know that," Jack said softly.

Becker nodded. "Of course I know. But what else can I do?"

"You can reopen the anomaly for him," Abby said, and Connor was nodding eagerly.

Becker gave them an exasperated glare.

"Listen, you two, you can either stay here with Harkness, or you can search with me, but _this_ ," he pointed at the anomaly, "stays locked."

The two youngsters, however, weren't about to give in just yet. They had balls; Jack had to give them that.

"Becker, mate, you can't do this!" Connor protested. "You need to open it _now_. This is Matt we're talking about."

"Exactly," Becker returned coldly. "He knows the rules better than anyone. If he's gone through, it's on his own head." He turned to leave. "I haven't finished searching. Harkness, keep an eye on them; see that they don't do anything foolish. I'm not losing any more people due to stupid heroics."

He stormed out to help his men searching the rest of the building. Connor glared after him angrily.

"I don't care about the rules. Just…"

"He's right, though," Jack pointed out gently, sympathising with the two young people but reluctant to let them take any unnecessary risks.

Abby gave him an angry, almost hurt look. "You don't know what it's like to be trapped out there, to be lost so far away."

Jack reeled; it felt like a punch in the guts. All of a sudden, he was back on the Game Station, alone among all those dead people and Dalek dust. Compared with that, suffocating again and again in his lonely grave for two thousand years had almost been the lesser evil. _Almost_.

"Oh, believe me, I know _exactly_ what it is like," he said softly, that old pain palpable in his voice even for these kids who didn't know him at all.

Then you know we can't just leave him there," Connor insisted. "He's a human being, trapped, and we could help. We _should_ help."

Jack shook his head and sighed. "We can't take the risk."

"No one else goes through," Abby suggested. "No search parties, no risks. If a creature comes out, we'll deal with it. But we _have_ to open it. We've got to give Matt a chance."

Jack hesitated. Disobeying a direct order on his first day on the job could get him in serious trouble; Becker _had_ given him a fair warning. On the other hand, the thought to abandon Anderson as the Doctor had abandoned him went against every principle he believed in.

"Come on!" Connor urged, and Jack finally gave in.

"All right, let's do it. But hurry up before Becker returns and throws my sorry arse in the brig."

"Deal!" Connor grinned, manipulating the makeshift apparatus with practiced ease.

The anomaly reopened, spitting up a man carrying an unconscious woman in old-fashioned clothes on his arms. Hot on his heals a large, scaled creature with a disturbing amount of vicious fangs in its long snout appeared in the centre of the anomaly.

Lead by reflex more than by any conscious decision, Jack shot the oversized reptile straight in the chest. The impact threw it back into the anomaly, but he knew the result would be only temporary.

"Lock it!" he shouted at Connor and, to his credit, the young man acted with impressive speed. The anomaly shrank, and they looked at each other in relief.

The man who had just come through – presumably their team leader, Matt Anderson, to whom Jack had to be introduced yet – carefully laid the woman on the floor and looked up at them.

"Before you ask, I don't know. She just ran through."

"And you followed her? " Jack said, shaking his head.

On the one hand, that was what _he_ would have done. On the other hand, it was a foolish risk, as Anderson couldn't count on bouncing back from the death as _he_ could.

Anderson shrugged. "What else could I have done?"

"I can think of a few things," Jack replied. "Becker won't be happy with you; with either of us."

"Probably," Anderson allowed. "Speaking of which: who the hell are _you_?"

"Captain Jack Harkness, Becker's new second-in-command; at least I was until now," Jack replied grimly. "I might get fired as soon as he learns that we reopened the anomaly for you."

"No, you won't; it isn't his decision," Anderson replied; then he held out his hand. "I'm Matt, by the way. Thanks for letting me escape."

"Jack," Jack shook the proffered hand. "You are welcome."

"What was that thing?" Abby waved in the direction of the closed anomaly, meaning the reptile, of course.

Matt shrugged. "Some sort of arboreal raptor. A tree climber. Trust me; you don't want that thing coming through."

Jack nodded; he could vividly imagine _that_. He looked down at the unconscious woman, at her odd clothes.

"We found another woman clad like this," he said, "but she's dead. _Not_ a creature attack, though; she seems uninjured. Do you know what happened to her?"

Matt shook his head. "Not a clue," he, too, looked down at the woman he'd just rescued. "We need to get her to hospital. _And_ we need to inform Becker; I'm so not looking forward to _that_."

Taking out his phone, he punched in a pre-programmed number. As he turned away to speak, the light from Abby's torch fell on the side of his head and Jack stiffened. Behind Anderson's left earlobe was a small tattoo; so small indeed that most people would mistake it for an oddly-shaped birthmark.

But Jack knew what it really was. He had one of those, too, after all. It was the ID symbol and service number of a Time Agent.

* * *

At the same time in the ARC Tosh had finished the system check and went to find Philip. She found him in a neighbouring office, working on something she couldn't identify at first sight.

"Mr. Burton? All the systems are compliant. There are no glitches that I can see."

Philip beamed at her. "Good news, Doctor Sato. And please call me Philip; everyone does."

"Only if you call me Tosh," she replied, smiling. His enthusiasm was really infectious.

He pulled a face. "That sounds a bit frivolous for somebody of your calibre. What about Toshiko?"

Tosh laughed. "Works for me. So, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"You could have dinner with me in the not-too-distant future," he replied. "Right now, it would do if you could activate the scan and run a full test. Just to make sure everything works as it's supposed to."

"Sure," Tosh nodded, mentally patting the little gizmo nicknamed _the alien iPod_ in her bag. A full test run would be the golden opportunity to copy the entire program and study its specifics later, undisturbed – just in case she would need to hack it later.

She returned to the office where she'd been working and initiated the full test. Liking his little alien book scanner with Philip's laptop, she started recording the specifics on the alarm system, withstanding the temptation to use the potential openings into Philip's other databases the system offered.

She didn't believe that the man – for all means and purposes a genius – would have forgotten how vulnerable giving her access to his laptop would make his entire system, at least to someone with her abilities. So this was most likely a test; one she would take with flying colours.

At least for now. She could always hack _Prospero_ later, through Mainframe, or with the help of whatever powerful computer Jack – or Mr. Holmes – might gain access to for her. For now, she was content to scan the entire building, learning its every nook and canny, saving that information to her alien iPod. Some day that data might come in handy.

Her thought process was interrupted by a strange, chirping noise that sounded like something between a raccoon and a frog. Her curiosity piqued – plus, knowing that unknown sounds could mean unknown dangers – she looked around for the source of the sound, and soon she spotted an adorable little creature, about as long as her arm. It looked vaguely like a flying dragon from the Southeast Asian region, but it had a cute little crest on its head and its wings reminded more those of a bat.

It tilted its head to the side, looked at Tosh with bright, curious eyes and chirped again, clearly unafraid of unknown humans. Perhaps it was used to human company. It even allowed Tosh to scratch the base of its crest.

"Who are you?" Tosh asked, petting the little creature; it was definitely something else than Myfanwy; although, given the average mission of the ARC, perhaps of similar origins. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't _be_ here, you know. I don't think Mr. Burton would like to have you around."

The little lizard chirped and seemed almost amused. Tosh wondered briefly just how intelligent it might be. But she couldn't keep playing with it because she heard approaching footsteps. For the lack of any better solution, she shoved it with her foot under the desk.

It was a last minute action, as in the next moment Philip entered the office. "How's it going?"

"Fine. I've got about half the ARC scanned so far," Tosh tried her best to keep the little lizard under the desk with the help of her legs without making any suspicious moves. "It's all going like clockwork."

"Great," Philip grinned at her. "Send me a report when you're done."

"Of course," Tosh replied to his retreating back and kept watching the continuous scan.

The little creature used the chance and slipped through between her legs, flying out of the room, heading for a nearby lab. Tosh was so focused on her work that she didn't even notice.

* * *

To say that Becker was royally pissed with both Matt and Jack would have been an understatement. He was positively fuming; and he seemed angrier with Jack than with Matt – perhaps because subconsciously he considered Jack a threat.

"I've warned you, Harkness!" he said through gritted teeth. "Bu, of course you wouldn't listen. This won't end here."

Jack shrugged. "You're welcome to get me fired. I haven't asked for this assignment; I was _drafted_ and frankly, I'd be happy to leave. But if I am to stay here, you better get used to the fact that I do things my way."

"We'll see," Becker pulled himself together with visible effort. "Connor, dismantle the equipment. Matt, Abby and you come with me. We'll take this woman – _and_ the dead one – to _Bart's_. Harkness, stay here and secure the anomaly. I'll leave two men with you, just in case. Come on."

The rest of the ARC team obeyed without arguing. Even though Matt as team leader outranked Becker, the soldier was responsible for their safety, and on the field he had command. Going behind his back would have consequences, so it was better to do as he ordered.

Connor packed away the anomaly locking mechanism and left first. Soon thereafter an ambulance arrived, together with the coroner's wagon and the two women, the dead and the living one, were taken to _St Bartholomew's Hospital_. When everyone was gone, Jack called Ianto.

"Where are you?" he asked. "Can you come to the theatre in Cooper Street? I have the feeling that somebody – or _something_ – is still here with us, but these guys are a bit narrow-minded.

"I'm just leaving Whitehall; had to run some errands for Mr. Lester," Ianto replied. "But I'm done now, and I have the car with me, so I can come and help you. Send the coordinates to my phone. Standard equipment?"

That, of course, meant _Torchwood_ standard, which was by magnitudes better than anything the ARC could offer. Alien technology did have its advantages; so did having come from the distant future.

"Bring my Webley, too," Jack said. "Frankly, I'd feel better if we had the Torchwood big gun with us. These EMDs are surprisingly efficient, but I'd prefer something with a much bigger calibre. Preferably something _lethal_. If one of those creatures I've just seen managed to slip through, then we have a problem."

"Understood, sir. I'll be there in twenty minutes, tops. With _coffee_."

"Mr Jones, you are a jewel!" Jack grinned and hung up.

Then he readied his EMD and began his slow walk around the backstage area, looking out for anything suspicious.

He never noticed the long, prehensile, flecked tail descending from above directly behind his back.

* * *

At _St Bartholomew's Hospital_ the unconscious woman was taken into a private room, with a guard placed in front of her door. She came to briefly, but Matt's attempts to make her open up to him and get at least _some_ information out of her proved futile.

"Let's hope she'll be more talkative once she's rested a bit," he said in a voice that revealed that he didn't really believe it himself.

"Yeah, and pigs might fly," Becker, still incredibly pissed with them all, muttered darkly.

Fortunately, before things could have turned really ugly between them, they were approached by a mousey, nervous-looking woman in a white lab coat. She was carrying a manila folder.

"Hi!" she said a little breathlessly. "Which one of you is Mr Anderson?"

"That would be me," Matt said. "And you are…?"

"Molly Hooper," she introduced herself. "I'm one of the pathologists here and have just finished the post-mortem of the woman you've brought in. I mean the one that was already dead, of course," she giggled nervously.

Matt withstood the urge to roll his eyes… barely. She was a grown woman, for God's sake, why couldn't she _behave_ like one?"

"What have you found, Doctor?"

The nervous little pathologist handed him the folder. "I was instructed to give you the file."

"Instructed – by whom?" Becker asked, but she shook her head.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not authorised to tell you _that_. Everything you need to know is in there, though." She waved at the folder and practically fled the room.

Connor stared after her in surprise. "What's her problem?"

"Perhaps she's just not used to people," Abby suggested.

"Not living ones, you mean?" Connor deadpanned and was rewarded with a collective groan.

Matt opened the folder and studied the autopsy results with a frown. "That's odd…"

"What does it say?" Abby intrigued.

Matt handed her the folder. "See for yourself."

"Strange," she commented after a quick glance. "According to this, the dead woman we found at the theatre died of an infection that antibiotics would have knocked out in days."

"That's not all," Becker peeked into the file over her shoulder. "She's showing antibodies for smallpox. How is that possible? She is – _was_ – European, by the looks of her. She ought to have been vaccinated against the pox in early childhood."

"When I followed her friend through the anomaly, she knew that world," Matt said thoughtfully. "She knew how to handle those creatures."

"You think she came _from_ the anomaly?" Connor was the first to get the hit. "Cool!"

"I don't think either of them is actually from our time," Matt replied simply.

"That makes sense," Abby nodded. "Their clothes look as if they were at least two hundred years behind the current fashion… if not more."

"So, what are we doing with her?" Connor asked. "Pushing her through the anomaly again? Cause that would be, like, cruel or whatnot."

It was clearly meant as a joke, but Becker answered seriously. "I'm taking her into protective custody."

"You're _what_?" Matt and Abby echoed in unison; but it was Matt whom Becker answered.

"As you said, she clearly isn't from our time. She could be infectious, hostile, psychotic…" the others tried to interrupt, but he wouldn't let them. "No, we take her in, keep her secure and let the experts deal with her."

"Hold on," Matt said incredulously. " _We_ are the experts. We can't just lock her up like some wild animal. She's not a creature, she's a human being."

" _I didn't_ bring her here," Becker returned coldly. "Whatever happens to her is not my responsibility."

Matt glared at him with tightly controlled fury. "Well, in my judgement, we have to treat this with some sensitivity."

He was clearly taking this personally – but so was Becker, by the sound of it.

"In _your_ judgement!" he echoed, his tone making glaringly obvious what he thought about the judgement of their team leader.

Matt was rapidly losing control. "Go on, why don't you just say it?"

"Fine!" Becker snapped. "You chasing her through the anomaly put everyone at risk. I've seen too many people die that way. Happy now?"

Before Becker could have replied, though, suddenly Jess's voice sounded in their headsets.

"We have an incursion at the theatre. One man down. I repeat, we have an incursion."

"Great. One man down," Becker looked at Matt in open disgust. "Nice work."

Then he touched his headset. "Jess, this is Becker. Do you know who's it?"

"According to your men it is Captain Harkness," Jess answered sorrowfully. "I'm really sorry."

"Not your fault," Becker replied. "It seems I won't have to take the effort of getting used to having a second-in-command."

He stormed off without a further word, ramming Matt with his shoulder on his way out rather brusquely.

Abby and Connor exchanged shocked looks. Somehow they had not expected the charismatic, larger-than-life captain to be killed so easily, on the very first day of his new job.

"Let's go," Connor then said, and Abby nodded in agreement.

"You stay here," she said to Matt. "See what you can find out about the mystery woman. In one thing Becker _was_ right: she _is_ your responsibility."

"And what will the two of you be doing?" Matt asked.

"Helping Becker," Abby replied simply. "It's what we _do_ ; what we've been doing for years."

The unspoken addition _unlike you_ hung between them like a sword. Ignoring him for the time being, the intrepid twosome ran off after Becker.

Matt sighed. Ever since Abby and Connor returned, he was feeling something of an outsider, outnumbered by the old ARC team four to one. Because Lester, too, clearly sided with them most of the time. Jess didn't seem to face the same fate; but again, Abby and Connor lived with her, so they had probably become close in the recent weeks.

So far, old team and new leader had not come in conflict; this was the first time. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he might get marginalized if he wasn't careful; and _that_ would be dangerous, not only for his true mission but also for the ARC and its immediate purpose.

He shook his head ruefully and went to check on the mystery woman from the anomaly. To his shock, he found the door open and the guard who was supposed to stand in front of it being treated by the duty doctor, because of a bleeding head wound.

"Oh, great!" Matt groaned. "This day's just getting better and better!

He ran out in search of the woman, wondering if Becker hadn't been right about her, after all.

~TBC~


	6. Chapter 6

**Primeval crossover fic 05**

 **by Soledad**

 **Author's notes:**

Chapter Five takes part during the _Primeval_ episode 4.03. There are some lines of dialogue that are taken from that episode. The rest is all mine. *g*

Both _Babur's_ and _Gavin at Windows_ are really existing restaurants in London. Tosh's affair with Rajesh Singh is my invention. You can read about it in "Eye Witness".

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

Ianto had almost reached Cooper Street when Jess's call came in. He quickly pulled the car up to the kerb and groaned in despair. He _hated_ it when Jack died. Yes, he _would_ bounce back to live eventually, but dying was still as painful for him as for everyone else; and coming back was even worse.

At the moment they had the additional problem that no-one at the ARC knew about Jack's immortality, with the possible exception of Mr Lester. Ianto could only hope that he could divert the attention of the guards and pretend that Jack had not actually been dead, just knocked out. It was fortunate that the team didn't have a medic, as foolish as it had first seemed.

The guards attempted to stop him, arguing that whatever had killed the captain must have been in the theatre still, but Ianto ignored them. As Lester's personal assistant he had the necessary authority to override them, and that was exactly what he did. Or _tried_ anyway, 'cos Becker's men were trained to protect civilians; against their will, if they had to. Even those who outranked them.

 _Especially_ those who outranked them.

Fortunately for him, Becker himself arrived only moments later, with Abby and Connor in tow – and glared at him in disapproval.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Jack called me; he said somebody – or _something_ – was still inside, but no-one would listen to him."

"You know he is…" Becker trailed off.

"Dead?" Ianto shook his head. "I heard that, but I think it's not true. It takes a lot to kill Jack; so far he's always bounced back, no matter what," he turned to the guards. "What happened?"

"Broken neck," one of them answered glumly. "And believe me, I can tell a dead man from a live one. He wasn't bloody _breathing_ anymore!"

"It happens when he's in deep shock," Ianto said calmly; that was an old excuse for Jack appearing dead. "I'm sure things aren't as bad as they seem. Now, why don't you go and search for the creature while I go and look after Jack?"

"There's nothing you could do for him," the same guard as before said. "Not even an ambulance could help him anymore."

"Let me be the judge of that," Ianto said evenly. "He's been believed to be dead plenty of time before."

"Let him," Becker said. "We've more important things to do. It's bad enough that we've lost all radio contact with the ARC."

"Matt, too," Abby supplied helpfully.

Becker rolled his eyes. "Great. This means we're on our own and don't even know what are we dealing with," he tapped his earpiece, frustrated. "Jess? Talk to me."

There was no answer… unless one counted the eerie howling of some creature far above their heads.

"Whatever it is, it's above us," Becker said. "Perhaps on the rooftop."

"Tree creepers," a female voice said behind them. Turning around, they saw the mysterious woman who had fled from the hospital enter the theatre with Matt in hot pursuit. "More than one, most likely; this is the sound with which they call each other."

Ianto looked at her with interest. "You know these creatures?"

She nodded. "It'll make for the highest point, get its bearings and then go on the attack. Fortunately, they don't hunt in packs."

"Which means we'll have to hunt down each of them individually," Matt pulled a face. "All right, Abby, Connor, Becker, you stay with Mr Jones and search the auditorium and the backstage area. I'll take the one on the roof."

"I'm coming with you," their mysterious visitor declared.

Matt gave her an odd look. "Or what?"

"I'll be forced to hurt you," she said matter-of-factly – and she clearly meant it, too.

"Again," Matt corrected. "You'll be forced to hurt me _again_."

She just stared at him stubbornly, and he gave in, not wanting to waste any more time. "Okay, but stay out of sight. "

They ran out, heading for the rooftop where one of the creatures was still howling abysmally. Abby, Connor, Becker and Ianto continued to search for Jack – and for possible other creatures inside.

* * *

It was Ianto who succeeded in finding Jack – unsurprisingly, as he had his Torchwood-issue scanner locked on to Jack's wrist strap.

"He's here!" he called out, sitting down on the floor next to Jack's lifeless body and taking Jack's head onto his lap. Feeling around the back of Jack's neck he found the telltale signs of broken vertebrae; at least it had been a quick and painless death – this time. Jack would be coming back any minute now.

"Don't move!" he heard Becker's low, tense voice, and he froze. "On the count of three, dive."

Ianto did as he was told and could feel the air sizzle mere inches above him with the simultaneous discharges of three EMDs. He wasn't sure whether his hair had been singed or not; but he didn't care, because in that very moment Jack gasped back to life.

There was the usual short moment of confusion and panic; then he recognised Ianto and smiled up to him. Not his trademark, thousand megawatt grin but a small, private smile that was for Ianto alone.

"You are here," he murmured.

"Always," Ianto replied quietly. "I've promised, haven't I? Can you get up? We're still not done here."

"I'm fine," Jack clambered to his feet and felt his neck with a grimace. "That blasted thing wrapped its tail around my neck; the closest thing to hanging I can imagine."

He was _the_ authority in the area; hanging was one of the many, many methods the Master tried on him during The Year That Never Was. Ianto, realising that he was about to get lost in those painful memories, squeezed his hand encouragingly.

"Come on," he said. "We gotta go. There's at least one other of these things on the roof, and Matt might need back-up."

* * *

Back at the ARC Tosh was startled out of her concentration by Philip's panicked voice.

"Toshiko, stop the scan. There's a creature loose in here. Stop the scan!"

Years of working for Torchwood had taught Tosh to act in such situations first and ask questions later – assuming there _was_ a later. But as fast as she reacted, she was still half a second late. The computer had already taken over fort hem.

" **Incursion detected** ," the pre-recorded voice announced emotionlessly. " **Lockdown procedure commencing. Evacuate. Evacuate. Evacuate. Evacuate. Locked gate activated. Lockdown. Lockdown. Lockdown. Lockdown. Lockdown**."

Tosh watched in something akin to a shock as the ARC technicians ran off before the heavy security doors would slam down, isolating the operations centre from the rest of the world hermetically. She had no idea what to do.

" **Lockdown complete** ," the computer announced.

Jess seemed to be on the verge of panic. "What have you done?" she asked accusingly-

" _Me_?" Tosh snapped out of her shock. "It isn't my fault that our esteemed leader forgot to tell me that the scan was linked to emergency lockdown! What kind of idiot gives someone a job to do and doesn't even brief them properly?"

"I can still hear you, you know," Philip said from the lab where he was trapped, together with the little green lizard.

"I don't care!" Tosh snapped at him. "It's your fault, so you better help me fix it. How do we unlock lockdown?"

"You can't," Philip seemed close to panicking, too.

"Nonsense," Tosh said. "Every system has a back door; all we have to do I to find it."

"I should be able to disarm lockdown," Jess offered. "I've got clearance."

"Not any more," Philip shook his head. "I designed the scan so that only the most senior staff would have access to the controls."

"Senior staff being who?" Jess inquired.

"As of this precise moment, me," Philip admitted. "You can't override the controls without a retinal scan, which I can't do because I'm stuck _in here_!"

Tosh didn't lose her calm, although the whole situation uncomfortably reminded her of the time when Suzie had them trapped in the Hub. Only this was worse. Somehow she doubted that reciting Emily Dickinson to Philip's system would help.

"So we get you out," she sad.

"You can't!" Philip replied.

She gave him an arch look through the bullet-proof glass wall of the lab. "Watch me!"

Then she turned to Jess. "There _must_ be some other way that we can get him out of there.

What about the ceiling?"

Jess shook her head. "It's an isolation zone. Reinforced doors, nothing gets in or out."

"That's what they always say," Tosh replied archly. "Until I show them the error of their ways."

"I designed this system to neutralise any creature threat," Philip was breathing heavily. "Permanently."

"Well, you're not the only computer genius in this building," Tosh looked at Jess. "He sounds rather… odd."

Jess was becoming stark white. "The air is being sucked out of the room," she whispered.

Tosh shook her head in exasperation. "Fantastic! This is just getting better and better! Amateurs!"

"How long do I have, Jess, before the air runs out?" Philip wheezed.

Jess, obviously familiar with the specifics, made an unhappy grimace. "Twenty minutes until you lose consciousness."

"That's plenty of time," Tosh declared, more self-confidently than she actually felt. "Come on!"

"Where are you going?" Jess asked nervously.

"I'm going to go and do something… _unorthodox_ ," Tosh opened the case that Jack jokingly called _Tosh's-little-blue-box-of-knows-things_ and took out a mobile interface that _did_ originate on Earth – only a hundred or so centuries in the future. "Is there an external diagnostic outlet in this room?"

"Yes?" Jess clearly had no idea what Tosh was up to but produced the item in question nonetheless.

"Perfect," Tosh connected her interface to the outlet Jess had just wheeled in. "Right, thank you. That should work. Turn it on."

"Okay," Jess did as she was told and Tosh tried to get into the system, but all her attempts were repelled. "Anything?"

Jess shook her head nervously. "Nothing. Can you really do this?"

Tosh gritted her teeth. "This would be the first time that I fail. _Ever_. Go check if the generator's on safety."

"Toshiko," Philip wheezed while Jess went to check the generator. "Speak to me."

"I'm a bit busy here right now," Tosh replied absently. "Don't worry, though, I am going to get you there. Of course that means that you'll owe me dinner tonight – and I don't mean take-out or the next best fish and chips shop. I want something really classy."

Philip didn't see the situation quite so optimistically. "It's impenetrable, Toshiko!"

"No system is impenetrable," Tosh replied. "Not for _me_. You're good, I'll give you that, but I'm better. You'll see. Just wait."

"No time… for that. Toshiko… There are some things I haven't told anybody about; a special project called _New Dawn_. I need you to listen to me very carefully…"

The mentioning of _New Dawn_ made Toshiko freeze for the moment. Wasn't that the very thing Mr Holmes had mentioned? The project Philip had briefly spoken of to Connor but refused to tell more when Connor asked? Oh, yes, she _was_ paying proper attention now!

Unfortunately, Philip had just lost consciousness.

"Yes, well, now is not a time for last words anyway," Tosh said to Jess briskly. "It's not over yet. The problem is, though, that everything I try and do, I just keep hitting another firewall. Let's try another approach. This is supposed to be Connor's system, isn't it?"

"Well, it was once," Jess allowed. "But it's apparently been modified out of all recognition. I don't remember the old ARC having anything this… _extreme_. I mean, I wasn't actually _there_ , of course, but I've read all the records and saw the blueprints and…"

"But the foundations should still be there," Tosh interrupted her babbling. "Do you have a copy of the original version?" Jess nodded mutely. "Great. Load it onto a laptop and let me take a look… quickly, before our boss would suffocate for good."

To Jess's credit, she found and loaded the required program in record time. Tosh connected her alien iPod to both the laptop and the mobile interface and started the program.

"What is _this_?" Jess asked, meaning the alien iPod.

"A very useful piece of advanced technology that enables me to hack into the… wait a minute!" Tosh interrupted herself. "I don't _need_ to. I've found the trap door the boy built for himself. We should be able to get into the system through that. He's really good."

"Too good," Jess commented unhappily, indicating at the large letters blinking on the laptop's viewscreen: **Password required**.

"That's a problem," Tosh admitted. "Especially as we've lost contact with the core team. But perhaps I can reach Jack via the Torchwood satellite."

"Wait!" Jess stopped her. "I'm sure it would have been something to do with Abby. Connor has always been smitten with her."

"Abby, okay," Tosh typed the name in the field in a great hurry, her fingers a blur. "Come on."

 **Access denied** , the system told her. **Two attempts left before system shutdown.**

"That's not it?" Jess said, disappointed.

"Yeah, I can see that," Tosh returned a little testily and thought about the program for a moment. "What's Abby's family name again?"

"Maitland," Jess supplied; then she added in surprise. "You didn't know?"

"Jess, I've just met a building full of previously unknown people a few hours ago; you can't expect me to remember _all_ the names," Tosh typed **ABBY MAITLAND** into the field and waited anxiously. Philip could already be dead, and they were wasting their time with the stupid password!

 **Access denied** , the system told her. **One attempt left before system shutdown.**

"Dammit!" Tosh was thinking furiously. "Think, Tosh, just think. It would have been something obvious… oh!"

An idea occurred to her, based on the selfish child-personality ARC's resident young genius had displayed all the previous years. Yes, it _was_ risky, but it was the only thing she could think of.

With bated breath, she typed into the field **ABBY TEMPE** , knowing that if she was mistaken, there would be no way to save Philip.

There was a moment of tense silence, then the loudspeakers started blaring again.

 **Lockdown terminated. Lockdown terminated. System rebooting.**

"Thank God!" Tosh said with a relieved sigh. "Let's go and see how Philip is doing."

"Medics!" Jess cried, but didn't wait for them to arrive. Instead, she followed Tosh who was already rushing into the lab where Philip had been trapped and started with CPR and chest compressions as soon as she got there.

"Don't worry," she assured Jess. "I've been trained at first aid. My former job made it necessary."

And indeed, a few minutes later Philip began to cough. The medics arrived, too, with the oxygen tank and took over his care.

Jess beamed at Tosh. "He's okay. You didn't kill him."

Tosh laughed tiredly, the enormity of the situation just catching up with her now.

"Nicely put. Although, to be accurate, it was the green lizard that almost killed him. That and his own stupidity."

"I can… still hear you…" Philip wheezed behind the oxygen mask.

Tosh gave him an arch look. "Good. Perhaps next time you'll remember to brief me properly before you let me initiate a new system. And don't forget that you owe me dinner, somewhere nice. Your treat."

"Yes, ma'am," Philip laughed weakly, but it turned into a cough again.

"Ssh, don't try to speak!" Jess warned him. "Let the medics take you to the sick room and check you through."

"You'll be right as rain within the hour, sir," one of he medics promised as they helped him to his feet and steered him out of the lab.

"I think we should take Abby's pet back to the menagerie," Jess suggested.

Tosh nodded. "You do it. I'll call Jack and see how the team's doing."

* * *

"We're all right, Tosh," Jack answered her call. "The situation is contained, the creatures are dead, and Matt's mystery woman showed up, too. In fact, she helped us to deal with these… these _tree-creepers_ , as she calls them."

"She did?" Tosh was surprised. The woman had nothing in common with the female officers of UNIT who were trained to deal with monsters and aliens on a daily basis.

"Yeah, she and a few others have apparently lived in the same time period where these things belong; even hunted and ate them," the disgust was clearly audible in Jack's usually carefree voice. "I don't envy them; these are nasty buggers. But it's over for now."

"You've still died, though," Tosh said quietly.

Jack sighed. "Yeah, I have. It was a relatively easy death this time, though. I got away with a broken neck, clean and simple. And Ianto was there when I came back."

"You still died," Tosh repeated stubbornly. "Ianto isn't the only one who hates when you die, you know. Who's afraid that this would be the time when you don't come back."

"I know, Tosh," Jack replied gently. "But I _am_ back for now, and Ianto has managed to make the rest of the team believe I was just in shock."

"That won't always work," Tosh warned. "You should be more careful, Jack. We're moving on foreign territory and can't be sure whom we can trust."

"I know," Jack said, his voice grim now. "Which is why I'm gonna having a long, friendly chat with our esteemed leader."

"You mean Matt? Why so early?"

"Because I'm sure he isn't exactly who – or _what_ – he pretends to be," Jack answered in the same grim tone.

* * *

Firmly believing in the direct approach, Jack went straight to Matt's flat (address courtesy to Mr Holmes's omniscient and highly efficient PA), sending Ianto back to the ARC with Becker and the rest of the team. Some investigations were better conducted alone.

To his mild surprise Matt's abode turned out to be a penthouse on the top level of a very high building with a breath-taking view at the surrounding cityscape. Apparently, he wasn't the only time traveller who enjoyed great heights.

This wasn't the place where he'd have liked to live, however. It was airy and flooded with light, true, but also barren and minimalistic to the extreme, like an empty aquarium. Honestly, after that pretty stairway he had expected something more… classy. Of course that was _before_ he'd get a look at the inside of the flat, the furniture of which consisted of an uncomfortable-looking bed, two mismatched armchairs, something like a bar counter with some odd plants under glass bulbs – and lots and lots of empty shelves.

It didn't even look as if anyone would live here at all.

Matt was presumably surprised to see Jack on his doorstep, but – as usual – his stoic face showed no emotions.

"What are you doing here, Harkness?" he asked.

"We need to talk," Jack replied.

Matt raised an eyebrow. "About _what_?"

"About that little tattoo behind your earlobe," Jack said grimly. "You see, I happen to know what it means. I happen to have one, too. So I'd like to know what another Time Agent is doing here, in this same time period."

Matt's face remained expressionless but he stepped to the side.

"You better come in, then," he said resignedly.

The reason for his resignation became clear when Jack entered the living-room and discovered the oddly-dressed woman from the anomaly sitting there.

"This is just getting curious and curiouser," he commented. "Are the two of you working together on some hidden agenda?"

Matt snorted. "You're being ridiculous, Captain!"

"Am I?" Jack measured them with narrowed eyes. "You clearly don't belong to this time and apparently neither does she. So, out with it! What's going on here? Where are you from? Or, more importantly, _when_ are you from?"

Matt put on a mulish non-expression, but the woman apparently decided to cooperate.

"My name is Lady Emily Merchant," she said with a sigh. "My home is London. I was born in 1840. I beg of you, let me go. I came through the gateway with a man. I need to find him. We _must_ go back."

"Why?" Jack asked, unimpressed. Time travel was an old hat for him, and the anomalies made it really simple.

"Because he's dangerous," she explained. "The people I travelled with – there were fifteen of us at the last count – were all damaged in their own way, being so far from home. Lost. Trapped. But Ethan is something else. He's different."

"In what way?" Jack pressed. She sighed again, her expression troubled.

"It's as if there's something broken in him. Charlotte kept him under control and now that she's dead, none of us are safe."

"Emily," Matt interrupted, "whatever happens, I want you to know that you're safe here. I promise you that."

But she just shook her head unhappily. "None of us are safe while Ethan's out there."

Neither of the two Time Agents could have imagined just how right she was, but they exchanged worried looks anyway.

"We'll have to look out for him," John decided; then he aimed his next question directly at Matt. "And now to you. Where are _you_ from? Because your DNA matches the humans of this era very closely, and I happen to know that the Agency never recruited people from this far in the past."

"I'm not from the past," Matt returned. "I'm from the future; from the not too distant future. Or rather from one _possible_ future. I've come to prevent something from happening and make sure the future I came from never becomes reality."

"What exactly must you prevent from happening?"

"I don't know. I only know that it's about to happen in the early twenty-first century. A dozen or so of us have been recruited to come back through the anomalies, because it was believed that we would blend in better than anyone from a more distant future. I never met another one until now."

Jack shook his head. "I'm no one of those, nor have I come from your time. I've come from the _very_ distant future and not by way of the anomalies. In fact, I've landed here rather by accident in the late nineteenth century."

"And you've been here ever since?" Emily asked in surprise. "Will people be living such long lives in the future?"

"Not as a rule," Jack replied. "I'm a special case; but that's a story for another time. Let's talk about Matt's mission first; that's more important."

"What makes you think so?"

"Torchwood Three, the organisation I worked for before this assignment, had a leader who killed his entire team, back in 2000," Jack explained grimly. "Then, before shooting himself, he told me that it's the twenty-first century when everything changes, and that he killed the others because he wanted to spare them the future he'd seen."

"But how could he have seen the future?" Matt frowned. "Do you think he went through an anomaly?"

Jack shrugged. "I have no idea. In the century and a half I spent in Cardiff I've never seen an anomaly like these… and there isn't any mentioning of one in our Archives, either. We've got the Rift in Cardiff, of course, but that's a different phenomenon."

"Rift? What kind of rift?" Matt asked, but Jack shook his head.

"Sorry, you don't have the clearance to tell you that. But if Alex saw _your_ time, that's a good thing because it means that you'll succeed."

"How that?"

"We didn't know about any global catastrophe happening back in the twenty-first century in my time," Jack explained. "So you _must_ have prevented it… well, you _will_ prevent it," he laughed ruefully. "Time travel really messes up your tenses, doesn't it?"

"God, I hope so," Matt said fervently. "So, what will be happening now?"

Jack gave him a grim smile. "Now we'll make sure you _will_ succeed. I begin to believe that's the real reason my team has been reassigned to the ARC, no matter what the Powers That Be might think."

"Reassigned by whom? Lester?" Matt guessed.

"Oh, no," Jack shook his head. "The orders came from higher, much higher. There are hidden powers in this country not even the government is fully aware of; fortunately for us, they work on keeping mankind safe. Usually, Torchwood answers directly to the Crown, but in this case…" he shrugged. "Nominally, we were sent here to watch Philip Burton and a mysterious project of his no-one knows much about, save for its name: _New Dawn_. But I'm getting the feeling that your mission and ours have a lot in common."

" _New Dawn_?" Matt echoed thoughtfully. "He did mention it briefly to Connor when trying to win him over to work directly for _Prospero_."

Jack nodded. "I know. But he kept it very hush-hush ever since. Hopefully, he won't be able to resist the temptation of trying to approach Tosh likewise. If anyone, she'll be able to find out what's behind that name."

"But will Doctor Sato be able to resist the temptation of working for him?" Matt asked seriously. "She's a scientist – a chance like this only comes once in a lifetime."

Jack smiled with almost paternal pride. "Don't worry. My Toshiko knows where her loyalties ought to lie."

* * *

"You were brilliant today, Toshiko," having been patched up by the medics, Philip Burton was leaning casually against the doorframe of the small office. "I don't think anyone else on Earth could have broken through that firewall I set up. I underestimated you, and I apologise. I'm glad you're on the team."

Tosh smiled at him shyly. "So am I. Working here is a different challenge."

"I'm glad to hear it," Philip smiled back at her. "About that dinner I owe you: how does _Gavin at Windows_ sound? On Saturday evening?"

Tosh turned around and stared at him in surprise. "You can get a table at _Gavin at Windows_ just like that? But the waiting list is half a year long!"

Philip grinned tiredly. "You underestimate the things money can buy. Well? Interested?"

"To be honest – no," Tosh replied apologetically. "I wanted something _nice_ , not overly posh; and I'm not particularly fond of French cuisine. If I had the choice I'd prefer Indian."

"In that case what about _Babur's_?" Philip suggested. "What's wrong?" he then asked, seeing her go stark white.

Tosh shook her head and pulled herself together. "Nothing is wrong. It's just… I used to go to _Babur's_ with a man who meant a great deal to me."

"What happened? Did he break your heart?"

"No. He was the first to die at Canary Wharf."

"I'm sorry," Philip murmured uncomfortably. "We'll find another place."

"No," Tosh said. " _Babur's_ will do. It's a wonderful place, and I can't keep running from painful memories. Raji wouldn't want that."

"Raji?" Philip echoed, his tongue stumbling over the foreign-sounding name.

Tosh smiled sadly. "His name was Rajesh Singh. _Doctor_ Rajesh Singh. He was a brave and brilliant man, but he's dead and I'm alive, and life must go on."

"How very true," Philip grinned again. "Saturday evening then?"

"It's a date," Tosh agreed.

~TBC~


	7. Chapter 7

**Primeval crossover fic 06**

 **by Soledad**

 **Author's notes:**

Chapter Six takes part during the _Primeval_ episode 4.04. There are some lines of dialogue that are taken from that episode. The rest is all mine. *g*

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

About a week after the near-disaster at the ARC, Jack was summoned to the _Diogenes Club_ – for 'debriefing', as Mr Holmes's gorgeous and enigmatic personal assistant put it. He took Ianto with him (with Mr Lester's reluctant permission), as Ianto was capable of keeping all important details in his photographic memory; such abilities came in handy when someone didn't want to take notes. Notes that could be looked into or even stolen by third parties.

When they entered the eerily silent reading room of the club, with all those sour-faced fossils immersed in their newspaper and drinking tea, Jack was glad for having listened to Ianto (again) and wearing a suit. Even if he felt naked – and _not_ in a good way – without his greatcoat and the Webley. Although the truth was that even properly dressed, he stood out of this environment of noble boredom like a sore thumb.

The fact that the grumpy old men continued ignoring him didn't help a bit.

Only one of them – a still robust senior with dramatic sideburns that had been out of fashion for at least half a century – looked up and gave them a barely visible wink. Without his ever-present uniform Jack needed a moment to recognise him as Commodore Sullivan, formerly of the Royal Navy, later Deputy Director of MI5 and, more importantly, a former companion of the Doctor.

Of a much earlier incarnation of the infamous Time Lord than the one(s) Jack used to know, but still an ex-companion, and one that had parted ways with the Doctor in good terms at that.

Sullivan's presence changed Jack's first opinion about the _Diogenes Club_ immediately. There must have been much more to the institution than just a bunch of senile old men refusing to catch up with the twenty-first century. He had to admit that it was an excellent disguise, though.

He and Ianto were led to the _Strangers' Room_ – the only room in the entire building where talking was permitted – by an elderly man in a suit. Mr Holmes and his gorgeous right hand were already waiting for them; and so were tea and biscuits, which was a courteous gesture, even though both Jack and Ianto preferred coffee. This time, however, the polite thing would be to accept the generous offer.

Besides, no-one could have come even close to Ianto's supreme blend anyway.

'I'll be mother," Mr Holmes announced, pouring tea for everyone. Except for his personal assistant, of course.

Jack bit the inside of his cheek to suppress his grin, because there couldn't have been a _less_ maternal sight on the whole planet – or beyond it – than Mycroft Holmes, in his three-piece Saville Row suit and antique fob watch, the gold chain of which was threaded through the buttonhole of his waistcoat. Still it was courteous of him to serve them with his own hand.

So courteous that Jack became a bit suspicious at once. Paranoia might not be an attractive trait, but it could save one's life, in his experience. Besides, he had enough attractive traits to even out the odds, hadn't he?

"I've read your reports," Mr Holmes said conversationally, aiming his words at Ianto, which proved how well-informed he was. Jack _always_ rolled off such unpleasant bureaucratic tasks to Ianto. "I must admit that I am mildly concerned."

Had Jack or Ianto ever worked for the Home Office, they would have known that when Mycroft Holmes was 'mildly concerned', heads would roll very soon, because national security was endangered and quick and ruthless actions were required. Since they didn't have the necessary background knowledge, though, they simply waited for their boss to elaborate.

"I was never sanguine about giving Philip Burton complete authority over security measures at the ARC," Mr Holmes continued. "However, he had the Minister completely in his pocket and – unfortunately – sometimes a mere title counts more than expertise or _real_ power."

"Meaning that you were simply overruled," Jack grinned; then, seeing the sour expression of his buss, he hurriedly added," sir."

Mr Holmes nodded with a certain air of resignation.

"The nature of my power requires being _very_ subtle and discreet by exercising it. Letting the Minister know what I _can_ do would undermine my position. I cannot afford _that_. I need to be able to handle without delay in the case of a country-wide emergency, so I have to choose my battles carefully," he gave them the shadow of a sarcastic smile. "I trust you have studied thoroughly the reports from the old ARC's last active year, haven't you?"

Ianto nodded. "Yes, sir. I've read every single one and summarised the most important events for the others."

"Excellent. In that case you will be aware of the actions of a certain Miss Christine Johnson – _and_ the consequences of said actions."

"Yes, sir. She appears to have been a remarkably ruthless individual."

"That she was," Mr Holmes agreed. "Unfortunately, she was absolutely right in her judgement concerning the Minister. It is a good thing that Captain Becker's… let's call it _indiscretion_ got her off Mr Lester's back; but it still left us with the same Minister as the nominal superior."

"One that can be bought by flattery or money – or both," Jack summarised.

Mr Holmes nodded again, his sour expression not changing a bit.

"Indeed. And the fact that Philip Burton created a security system only he would be able to control makes me very suspicious about his true motives."

"Hopefully, he has learned from his own mistake while nearly causing his own death," Anthea commented.

Ianto shook his head. "Not according what he told Tosh on their dinner date. He's about to talk the Minister into having the entire menagerie euthanized."

"And since _not_ having to feed the creatures would save money, he'll most likely succeed," Mr Holmes said.

"Over Abby's dead body," Jack replied, grinning.

"That, too, could be arranged," Mr Holmes said coldly. "Not killing her, of course, but she could be accused of having endangered the entire operation by not keeping her pet lizard securely in the menagerie. That could get her fired, if she's _very_ lucky; arrested, if she is not."

"That would be disastrous," Ianto said with a frown. "She's a real asset to the team. She knows a great deal about animal behaviour; _and_ she never looses her head in a fight. A year in the Cretaceous can do that to a person, I reckon."

"But as we've already discovered, Mr Burton cares very little for the creatures yet very much for the anomalies themselves," Anthea pointed out.

"Which is why we must learn, at all costs, what this _New Dawn_ project of his is supposed to be," Mr Holmes added.

"We're working on it," Jack promised. "Burton seems to be interested in winning Tosh for the project. I told her to play hard to get, but we can't really keep her working as Miss Parker's ersatz without blowing our cover. She's simply too brilliant for that."

Mr Holmes nodded in agreement.

"One would imagine that Mr Burton would want her to work for him," he said. "Her and Mr Temple, too. However, we need to thread carefully. I am fairly certain that Doctor Sato won't be easily seduced to Mr Burton's side, whatever side that might be. But Mr Temple is a different matter. He seems to be very responsive to flattery – which is understandable in his position – but given his talent, he _can_ be dangerous."

"We know," Jack agreed. "He _might_ be the one who helps Burton to reach the final breakthrough in that mysterious project of his; and _that_ might be the global disaster Matt Anderson has been sent back to prevent – or so he states."

"Do you still doubt his statement?" Mr Holmes asked.

Jack had, of course, immediately sent a report about his discovery concerning Matt's (supposedly) true identity, so their boss knew what he was hinting at.

"So far, I haven't found any proof that he'd be lying," he replied now with a shrug. "I just never heard that the Time Agency would recruit people as far back as the twenty-sixth century, is all."

"Actually, we did," Anthea interfered calmly. "The very beginning of the Time Agency lies in the twenty-fifth century; only that the first agents used the anomalies, as they didn't yet have the technology to travel through time at will. It was easier to recruit people who came from those times and were already familiar with them."

Jack stared at her in absolute shock. "You're one of us, too?"

She shook her head. "If you mean whether I'm a Time Agent, then no, I'm not. But I do come from the future, too – from a _possible_ future. In my own time, in the twenty-ninth century, I used to work for the _Torchwood Institute_ , as part of the team that studied the anomalies and tried to keep track of the various timelines. Until I got stranded here during a field trip, some eleven years ago."

"And you never wanted to go home?" Ianto asked.

She shrugged. "Wanting would get me nowhere. Even if there _would_ be an anomaly opening to my own time, I couldn't go through just yet. Not before we've dealt with whatever mess is supposed to happen in the near future. I might find a completely changed twenty-ninth century otherwise; one on which I never existed."

"Time travel is tricky," Jack admitted; then he looked at Mr Holmes. "Are we supposed to take sides in Philip's agenda of putting the menagerie down?"

"Actually, it isn't such a bad idea," Mr Holmes said, a little coldly. "I don't really think that the butterfly effect should be taken under consideration concerning them; and those creatures are risky as well as dangerous. Unless you have an alternate idea?"

"There is a private zoo just outside Cardiff, where we send harmless alien creatures," Ianto suggested. "They're well equipped to deal with the most exotic animals. Not a T-Rex, perhaps, but most definitely the smaller creatures – _and_ the mammoth. UNIT could take care of the transport; they usually do."

"That could work," Mr Holmes allowed. "If the zookeepers are willing – and able – to take the menagerie."

Ianto smiled. "They have a small, time-displaced tribe of Neanderthals working there. I'm sure they'll manage."

"They'll be ecstatic about the mammoth," Jack added. "And since one of them actually studied comparative zoology at the Open University, they're best suited for the task."

"All right," Mr Holmes said after a moment of consideration. "Do it; if only to show Philip Burton that he doesn't quite own the ARC yet."

* * *

Unbeknownst about the decision made by higher powers, back at the Arc Philip Burton was breaching the project to the rest of the team roughly at the same time.

"Realistically, how many of them, do you think, will ever make it home?" he argued.

"Most of them," Abby replied confidently, clearly believing it.

"But not all of them," Philip pointed out. "They'll be forced to live a miserable life in a world they don't understand. I think we seriously have to consider putting them down."

Both Abby and Connor stared at him in shock. Tosh, who had already heard about Philip's idea, was watching them with detached interest, noticing that Abby appeared to be a great deal more shocked. Of course, she was the kind of person who frequently protected animals, even at the cost of human lives, if the files of the old Arc could be trusted.

"It's the only humane solution," Philip went on, clearly undisturbed by the shocked silence. "It's the safest, kindest course of action. What do you think, Connor?"

The ARC's resident nerd was obviously shocked by the fact that his idol wanted him to take sides because he opened and closed his mouth like a traumatised goldfish, without actually producing any sound. Abby, on the other hand, had already found her voice again.

"Hang on!" she hissed, glaring at Philip who was giving her his best puppy-eyed routine. " _All_ of them? Even Rex?"

Which was the most idiotic think she could have asked, Tosh thought. After all, wasn't Rex the very reason that Philip had almost died a week ago? Well, _that_ and his own fault regarding the information he chose _not_ to share with them, but that was beside the point. A mistake like that would never happen again. Tosh had already seen into that; all three Torchwood agents as well as Matt, Jess and Becker had been given proper authorisation to lift lockdown in the future.

Philip – who had yet to learn about that fact – was still giving Abby that earnest, soulful haze than any woman with a grain of experience could identify as the surest sign of a blatant lie.

"I'm glad we've had the chance to talk this through," he said. "Thanks. I… I feel better."

With that, he gathered his briefcase and left. Abby stared after him in a strange mix of shock and outrage. Knowing her sometimes volatile mood, Connor made some lame attempt to placate her.

"Listen, I'm sure we can…"

They never learned what he wanted to say, due to the anomaly alert going off. Jess – today wearing high heals and an eye-wateringly garish mustard-coloured dress with generous cleavage – ran to her equipment and started locating the anomaly, rattling down coordinates, distance and directions.

Abby and Connor ran down the corridor, continuing their argument; such as it was, since Connor was the only one actually trying to argue, while Abby just hurled accusations and verbal abuse at him. In the end, she even refused to go with them, and as Becker was calling for Connor, the boy had no other choice but leaving her behind.

Tosh shook her head in dismay. The girl really needed to have her head screwed on right. Abandoning her team-mates, just to save her pet lizard – all right, the entire menagerie, but still… – wasn't what Tosh would consider the right priorities.

"Give me a black box," she said to Jess. "It won't do for them to arrive a man short; and I am a trained field agent," she accepted the locating device and added. "And Jess… should Abby want your help with _anything_ , don't do it until you've talked to me."

"Why to you?" Jess asked.

"Because you might need my help, either way," Tosh said calmly. "And I have more practice in cover-ups. Now, do your job and find us the bloody anomaly!"

* * *

As it turned out, the anomaly opened in the canteen of a local school and some really nasty creatures had already come through. Unfortunately, the school wasn't as empty as it ought to be – three students had detention, and the teacher who was supposed to watch them had already been killed… in a rather bizarre manner.

"Why is the arm purple?" Becker wondered, examining the bloody remains of what had been a human being less than an hour ago.

"The creature must have used some toxic venom to bring him down," Matt, who had arrived just in time to join them, replied.

Tosh resisted the urge to ask whether he knew of any _non_ -toxic venom. Barely

Their problems were multiplied by the fact that somebody – or something – triggered the security locks and the various members of the team got trapped in various sealed areas of the building.

"This is becoming a pattern," Tosh muttered angrily as she found herself separated from the others. "Jess, could the anomaly be interfered with the locks?"

They were _magnetic_ locks, after all, and the anomalies _did_ act as giant magnets. She wished she knew more about the dratted things. Like all true scientists, she _hated_ not knowing all available facts. She could _almost_ understand why Philip was so much more interested in the anomalies themselves than in the creatures. _Almost_.

The anomalies were the true mystery here. The creatures were just consequences. Rather deadly ones, in the current case, but still just consequences.

"Looks like the system's crashed," Jess answered her. "All the doors that were shut at the time are locked. You won't be able to get to the anomaly," her usually so cheerful voice was flat with tension. "There seems to be some interference with the CCTV…"

"Both Connor and I can reboot the system manually," Tosh reminded her. "Where's the server?"

"First floor, admin office," Jess replied. "Connor's got a clear path."

"Then he'll have to do it," Matt said via headset. "Becker and I are going to go after whatever did this. Can Doctor Sato join us?"

"Unlikely," Jess said grimly. "There are several blocked doors between you and her. But she could get to the anomaly if she takes the longer route, although that might prove risky. I'll give you directions on a separate channel, Tosh."

"Understood," Tosh acknowledged. "On my way."

"Be careful, both of you," Matt warned. "The creature uses a toxic venom to paralyse its prey."

"Toxic venom, copy," Connor replied crisply.

Once again, Tosh managed _not_ to point out that as a rule _all venoms_ were toxic. But it was hard.

* * *

In the meantime Abby managed to make an already tense situation even more complicated by distracting Jess, trying to win her cooperation with whisking the menagerie away from the ARC.

"All I need is twenty minutes," she argued. "Just order Security to clear out the loading bay while I get the creatures out."

Jess shook her head in exasperation. "What are you going to do with the mammoth? Put it on a leash?"

"I'll tranquilise it and put it on a low loader and drive it out," Abby replied promptly.

She clearly believed that it was doable, which made Jess wonder whether she had truly escaped the Cretaceous with all her marbles still intact.

"Abby, I don't think this is a good idea," Jess tried desperately to follow the team's progress while attempting to talk Abby out of whatever hare-brained plans she might have been forging.

But Abby didn't listen to her.

"Thanks, Jess," and, assuming that Jess would do her bidding, she was already out of the room.

Jess, uncertain about what to do now, contacted Tosh through a separate channel.

"Tosh? Abby is planning to flee, together with the entire menagerie. She wants me to clean out the loading bay for her."

"And where does she want to take the creatures?" Tosh asked, her voice remarkably calm.

"I don't know," Jess confessed. "I don't think _she_ knows, either. She just wants to save them. What should I do?"

"Nothing!" Tosh replied sharply. "I'm on my way."

"But the team might need your computer skills!" Jess reminded her.

"They've got Connor; he'll just have to deal," Tosh said. "I'll clear it with Matt and call for reinforcements. You inform Mr Lester. He needs to know."

"I don't want to betray Abby!" Jess protested.

"Tough!" Tosh replied acerbically. "She needs to be stopped before she gets the rest of the team killed. We have a team-mate with a similar attitude, back in Cardiff. On her first day, fourteen people died because she made a stupid mistake – but at least she was a rookie then. Abby has been with the ARC for how long?"

"Three years, if we don't count the one spent in the Cretaceous."

"She ought to have set her priorities straight by now," Tosh said. "If she can't do that, she's a danger for the rest of the team, and I for my part won't let anyone die, just because she wants to save her pet lizard. Go and help the team. I'll deal with Abby."

With that, the connection was broken and Jess was on her own again. With a despondent sigh, she switched back to the team to help them navigate the pitfalls of a school infested with prehistoric monsters.

* * *

The first thing Tosh did was to alert Jack and Ianto and call them to the school.

"I need to return to the ARC before Abby does something spectacularly stupid," she explained. "She's obviously planning to flee with the creatures Philip wants to put down."

"That would be a fatal mistake indeed," Jack agreed. "The menagerie has already been taken care of; I've just spoken to Dr N'go. They're willing to take in all the harmless ones."

Tosh grinned in relief. "I knew you'd think of something. Will _you_ inform Mr Lester about this or should I speak with him?"

"No need for that. Mr Holmes will see into it. Go and stop that stupid girl; we'll see you back at the ARC."

"Okay. Thanks, Jack," Tosh switched channels. "Matt? Tosh here. There's a serious problem building up with Abby at the ARC. I must go back and deal with it. Jack and Ianto are on their way to you and will be there shortly."

"What kind of problem?" Matt asked warily.

As much as he liked Abby, her headstrong nature often irritated him.

"Later," Tosh replied. Mr Lester is being informed as we speak; I can deal with the rest. Your priority is to deal with the intrusion now."

She broke the connection before Matt could have said anything else and began to look for a way out of the school building.

* * *

When she got back to the ARC, she found Jess in chalk-white, wide-eyed shock. The girl was trembling uncontrollably, her hands clammy.

"What happened?" Tosh asked.

"I… I just watched the creature kill a girl," Jess whispered. "Oh God, Tosh, she couldn't have been older than thirteen! I can't understand how Abby could protect them still…"

As if on clue, the phone rang. Tosh picked it up for the still petrified Jess. As she assured, it was Abby.

"Jess, evacuate the loading bay," she demanded, without as much as checking if she was talking to the right person. "I'm going to start bringing the creatures out."

She waited for a moment, and as there was no answer, she pressed on. "Jess? Are you there?"

"Sorry, Abby," Jess answered via her headset that linked directly to the phone net. "These creatures are too dangerous. I've just been handed a major reality check. I'm sorry."

Abby, however, blindly determined to carry out her plan, showed little understanding for Jess's dilemma.

"I'm just going to have to do this on my own then," she snapped and hung up.

Jess looked at Tosh pleadingly. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Have you spoken to Mr Lester?" Tosh asked.

Jess nodded mutely.

"Then you've done all you could for Abby. Keep monitoring the team; they might need your help yet."

* * *

Jess returned to her actual work and – as if fate had wanted to prove Tosh right – soon discovered three more creatures (Matt called them _therocephalians_ – half mammal, half reptile) entering the canteen through the anomaly.

Fortunately, Connor had managed to reboot the security system and unlock the doors stopping them by then; and at the same time Jack and Ianto finally arrived at the school. Tosh could afford to go down to the loading bay and see what Abby was doing.

As expected, Abby was packing carrier boxes in the empty loading room and preparing the tranquiliser gun to deal with the mammoth. Which was the moment when Lester entered the room.

"Abby, you have to stop this, _now_ ," he said in a deceivingly mild voice. "Please don't make me call security," he folded his arms before his chest calmly. "There's no chance whatsoever of you getting those creatures out of here."

"How did you know?" Abby demanded. "Has Jess told you?"

"Don't blame Jess; she was frightened of you getting hurt," Lester answered. "Besides, she didn't decide on her own."

"On whose then?"

"Mine," Tosh stepped into the room. "I told her not to do anything before talking to me; and I sent her to Mr Lester. I knew you just won't let things alone."

Abby shook her head despondently. "This is _wrong_! No human being in history has seen these creatures alive before us. We've been given the most amazing gift. And how do we repay for this privilege? By killing them because they're inconvenient?"

"They are a bit more than just inconvenient," Tosh reminded her sharply. "We already had two fatalities at the latest location. Innocent bystanders who had nothing to do with the ARC; one of them a thirteen-year-old girl."

Abby gave her a decidedly unfriendly look. "I'm not at all surprised that you'd support Philip's decision. You're one of her groupies, after all."

"No, I'm not," Tosh corrected. "I'm a scientist who's capable of understanding – and appreciating – his genius. You, on the other hand, should get off your moral high horse and rethink your priorities. You've abandoned your team today to save your pet lizard, If anyone of them, it will be your fault; at least partially. Be glad you don't work for Torchwood. For a stunt like that you could end up fired and mind-wiped in one fell sweep."

Abby still wasn't giving up. She looked at their boss beseechingly.

"Lester, after all we've done here, is this how we're going to be remembered?"

Lester shook his head. "If right or wrong, this wasn't _your_ decision to make. You should trust me to know what I'm doing. I usually do."

"You haven't done _anything_!" Abby said accusingly.

Lester raised a sarcastic eyebrow. As a rule she gave Abby a lot of leeway because that was how she worked best, but he was getting fed up with her attitude.

"And you came to that conclusion – how exactly? Just because I'm not running around with a tranquilising gun like a headless chicken it doesn't mean that I don't have my methods."

"So what _are_ you going to do?" Abby demanded.

"What needed to be done has already been done," Lester answered simply. "We'll discuss it in due time. Right now we've got more pressing issues to deal with. I just got a call with Captain Harkness; the entire school is swarming with those creatures and Captain Becker is down."

"Do they need back-up?" Tosh was already on her way out but Lester stopped her.

"Jess has dispatched another team; _and_ medics. Apparently, Connor has mixed up something in the science lab to knock the creatures out; if we're _very_ lucky, they won't wake up before reinforcements arrive."

* * *

Fortunately for them all, back-up and medics _did_ arrive on time. Beckett got his antidote in the last possible minute, thanks to Matt's rather crude methods to treat his wound (which had bought him precious time) and the still unconscious creatures were unceremoniously shoved back to their own time through the reopened anomaly.

"Very good," Lester nodded in satisfaction after having listened to Matt's report. "Now we'll have to deal with the fallout."

"You mean the dead creatures?"

" _And_ Philip," Lester said sourly.

"You need my help?" Matt offered.

"Oh, I'd _love_ it," Lester confessed, "But I doubt that the presence of witnesses would be particularly helpful in this case."

~TBC~


	8. Chapter 8

**Primeval crossover fic 07**

 **by Soledad**

 **Author's notes:**

Chapter Seven marks the first appearance of the real AU elements. It still takes part during the _Primeval_ episode 4.04 and there are some lines of dialogue that are taken from that episode, but this is where the story begins to go down an alternate alley.

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

Philip Burton was many things but naïve wasn't one of those things. He expected the old ARC team – or, at the very least Abby – to try undermining his intentions concerning the menagerie. She was always unreasonable when it came to the beasts, no matter how dangerous they were… or how costly their keeping was.

All the more surprised was he then when – upon arriving the next morning to make sure his orders were carried out – he found nobody but Lester in the operations centre, with Toshiko supervising the anomaly detector. Lester was also wearing a somewhat smug expression, which was always an indicator that one should thread carefully.

"Good to see you supervising the procedure yourself, Philip," he said by way of greeting.

There was something in his tone that made Philip slightly irritated.

"Least I could do, James," he replied. "Don't want any mistakes. Oh, by the way, you haven't co-signed the executive order yet," he waved with the sheet of paper.

"Ah, yes," Lester returned nonchalantly. "And I don't intend to."

Philip narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Of all people, James Lester was the one he hadn't expected resistance from.

"You do realize I don't actually _need_ your signature?" he reminded the older man. "Scientific policy is directly under my control."

"That is perfectly true," Lester answered amiably. "Unless I happened to have an alternate solution and manage to persuade the Minister that my solution would make him look better than yours."

"Which you have?" Philip asked in suspicion.

"Which I have," Lester agreed smugly. "I explained him that we won't be able to keep the anomalies secret forever. One day it will all come out, whether we like it or not; and then the world outside these walls would go looking for a scapegoat. I assured him that it wouldn't be _me_ ; and for some reason _he_ doesn't want to be remembered forever as the Dinosaur Killer."

Philip hadn't been certified as a genius for nothing. He knew when he was beaten; and he knew how to make a graceful tactical retreat. He might not think much of the Minister as a _person_ – quite frankly, very few people actually did – but he knew when he was supposed to bow to the _office_.

"So, what is this alternate solution of yours," he asked; this wasn't over by far, they both knew that, but Lester had definitely won this round.

"Oh," a deeply amused voice said," I believe that would be _me_."

Philip stared in unabashed amazement at the man stepping out of Lester's office – and who could blame him? Despite his casual clothing, the man was certainly a unique sight, even in multicultural London.

He was over six foot eight tall, bow-legged, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, a projecting mid-face and a low, flat, elongated skull. Albeit deeply tanned, he originally must have been as fair-skinned as a Viking and his collar-length thick hair had a light, reddish-brown hair tone. It was knotted together on the top of his head. His deep-set, pale eyes were shielded by fairly prominent brow ridges.

Actually, he looked very much like a Neanderthal – if it weren't for his impressive height.

"This is Doctor Nogo," Lester introduced him; it vaguely sounded as if he had said _No-Go_.

"N'go!" the man, seemingly in his early fortes, corrected, making an odd clicking sound in the middle of the name that Philip was sure he wouldn't be able to reproduce.

Even though he spoke Arabic fluently, and Arabic was known for the one or another sound European vocal cords found hard to produce.

"Whatever," Lester said with the typical British disregard for the possible sensibilities of aborigines; although _what_ kind of aborigine Doctor N'go might be, Philip couldn't even begin to guess. "He is the curator of a rather specific private zoo outside Cardiff; one specially equipped to take in and keep the most… err… _unusual_ creatures."

"From this planet or otherwise," Dr N'go added cheerfully. "Preferably mammals but birds and reptiles are fine, too. We even have a moderate-sized aquarium and keep a variety of insects as well. So, unless it's a T-Rex or something equally dangerous, we'll be happy to take in your menagerie."

The mentioning of Cardiff helped Philip to place the whole thing, at least in general terms.

"You're affiliated with Torchwood, aren't you?" he asked.

"Marginally," Doctor N'go shrugged. "As a rule they send us harmless creatures and provide us with a bit of financial support. But we are mostly self-providing; there are the entrance fees the visitors pay, the courses we run; and we have our own brand of cosmetics and herbal medicines," he tapped his broad nose with a blunt fingertip. "Better than any chemical analysis."

"What kind of doctor _are_ you anyway?" Philip asked in suspicion.

"I made my PhDs in palaeontology and comparative zoology," Doctor N'go grinned. "You could say I had a personal interest in the topics. The herbal manufacture is run by our Doctor Zhori, though. She is the botanist, not me," he dismissed the topic by turning to Lester. "Well, James, do you think I could take a look at that mammoth of yours? It has been more than fourteen years since I last saw one."

That casual remark intrigued Philip even more, and so he followed them down to the menagerie – where he would never set foot as a rule – to see the mammoth. To his surprise not only seemed Doctor N'go excited to see the creature; Manny, too, became very excited as soon as he caught the first whiff of the man, trumpeting and stomping and searching along the rim of his confinement with the prehensile end of his trunk.

Doctor N'go took the end of the searching trunk into his large, flat hands, stroked it and spoke to the mammoth in a guttural tongue the like of which Philip had never heard. It seemed to consist of very short words full of clicking and hacking sounds – in fact, it sounded a lot like coughing.

"We called his kind 'the-rock-that-moves', back home," Doctor N'go looked at Lester. "I never thought I'd see one again. The others, too, will be excited to have him. Even though we'll have to build a larger enclosure for him. The largest one we currently have won't fit him much longer."

"You mean he's going to _grow_ yet?" Philip was mildly shocked.

He found the name 'the-rock-that-moves' quite fitting for the mammoth already, to tell the truth. Its sheer mass could have caused any sensible person nightmares. But again, no-one working for the ARC seemed to be particularly sensible when it came to ugly beasts.

Doctor N'go nodded. "Oh yes, he's fairly young yet. See how small his tusks still are?"

"Those _small_ tusks would put the largest elephant bull on the planet to shame," Lester commented dryly.

Doctor N'go laughed. "I know. When I came here, I was almost shocked how small your animals were, compared with the ones I was used to… including the predators," he gave Manny's trunk one last pat. "Well, my hairy friend, you're coming home, soon. Or as close to home as any of us can get."

* * *

The rest was all logistics and technical details involving UNIT, which Philip tuned out as boring. There was _one_ detail about their visitor he needed to know though, so he waited for the man to leave before asking Lester.

"He's a time-displaced person, right?"

Lester nodded. "By some fifty thousand years, give or take a century or so I'm told. He and his entire tribe fell through the Cardiff Rift fourteen years ago, and since one cannot exactly use the Rift as a safe gateway, Torchwood found a place and an occupation for them."

Philip opened and closed his mouth several times before he could actually produce a coherent sound – something that didn't happen to him often… or at all, to be honest.

"You mean there's an entire tribe of _Neanderthals_ living outside Cardiff?"

"Just a small one," Lester replied calmly. "If I remember correctly, there were a grand total of sixteen of them when they arrived. I'm not sure if any births or deaths have happened since their arrival, of course."

"And you… I mean the government… just lets them _be_ there?"

"Why not? The area used to belong to an eccentric Baron with more money than common sense who wanted to build his own safari park. He died without heirs; the park went back to the Crown and kept rotting there with no good use. Now it has herb gardens, a zoo, the forest has been returned to its natural shape; it is very popular among the locals."

"Including the zookeepers?"

"Again: why not? They're a peaceful bunch, stick to their own kind, pay their taxes like every good citizen and offer the visitors an experience they wouldn't get anything else. Why shouldn't they like it?"

"But they're… _Neanderthals_!" Philip knew his argument was silly and weak, but he just couldn't wrap his head around the idea.

Lester shrugged. "They're immigrants; just from a different time, not from a different country. Besides, if one can believe you scientists, we all have Neanderthal genes in our genetic make-up to a certain extent."

Philip shook his head. "I still can't understand how the locals can accept them."

"They're _Welsh_ , Philip," Lester replied dryly. "They see you or me more foreign than _them_. Besides, the Cardiff Rift was open for how long? A century and a half almost? Plenty of time for the locals to get used to the unusual."

"So this was your idea?"

"Mine? Oh no, I didn't even known about the Tribe until yesterday. Different departments, different security clearances, you see. But Captain Harkness still _is_ the leader of Torchwood Cardiff, even though he's been lent us for a short while. He was the one to offer the solution."

"And you went to the Minister with it."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I _hate_ waste," Lester said coldly. "In one thing Abby was right: the creatures are unique and the chance to see them comes once in a lifetime. Besides, you weren't entirely without fault in this entire disaster. It would be wrong to euthanize the entire menagerie just because you neglected to tell us about the intricacies of your security system – which you _should_ have done from the beginning."

There was some truth in _that_ , not that Philip would have been ready to admit.

"Miss Maitland wasn't without fault, either," he said instead. "She should have kept that pet lizard of hers confined; there wouldn't have _been_ a disaster in the first place, had she stuck to regulations."

"I know," Lester sighed. "I'll deal with her."

"See that you do; or _I will_ ," Philip returned coldly and left.

* * *

Four days later a caravan of transporters containing the menagerie of the ARC set out for Cardiff. There had been only half a dozen individual creatures rejected by Doctor N'go – apparently the curator of their new home. Mostly giant insects and murderous reptiles that the private zoo couldn't guarantee to contain. Those _were_ euthanized, after all, as it made no sense to keep them at the ARC, with the rest gone. All other creatures were loaded into the transporters – driven by UNIT soldiers – and sent on their way to Wales. Aside from Abby, Captain Harkness and Ianto went with them.

Abby had an oddly flat feeling in her stomach, sitting in the cockpit of the last truck, wondering why Lester would insist that she accompanied the caravan. The UNIT soldiers seemed competent enough to oversee the procedure. Although it made sense, considering that she was the one with the most knowledge about the creatures, she still had the suspicion that there was more than just practicality behind Lester's orders.

The trip was long and boring. The UNIT soldier driving the transporter – a tall, ruggedly handsome fellow by the name of Private Harris – didn't deign to talk to Abby, so she had to entertain herself with theories what the place might be like. Would there be tall stone or concrete walls, perhaps electric wire fences, to keep the creatures inside? And what would the zookeepers be like?

She knew they were supposed be a small tribe of Neanderthals – in theory anyway. She found the thought still hard to digest, even after all those years with the ARC – _and_ the one spent in the Cretaceous.

When they finally arrived, the sight greeting them was nothing that she'd have expected. Nothing at all.

Sure, they _was_ a fence – topped with barbed wire, with the obvious intention to keep unwanted visitors _out_ – and a gate with the necessary security measures. Very sophisticated ones, in fact, although _that_ wasn't obvious at first sight. On the gate a simple plaque announced to anyone who might care that this was the _Prehistoric Park_ – which could have meant literally _anything_.

Inside the fence, though, it didn't really look like a zoo, not even one of those park-like ones that had come in fashion in recent decades. It was, basically, a big chunk of untamed forest, interrupted at irregular intervals by enclosures, herb fields and small cottages, each one with solar cells on the roof. This was very obviously the home of a group of people with a very unusual lifestyle.

They were greeted at the gate by Doctor N'go, the curator of the zoo – and clearly _not_ a modern-day human. Neither was he as primitive and ape-like – or as hairy – as Abby had always imagined Neanderthals to be, though. With a little stretch of imagination, he could have gone through as a Polynesian native… if one had never seen a real Polynesian native before, that is.

He was accompanied by a human woman: fair-skinned, russet-haired and rotund, almost a head shorter than him, wearing dark-rimmed glasses. Doctor N'go introduced her as Allison Mallard, the financial manager of the facility – meaning both the zoo and the living areas of the Tribe.

"We would be lost without her," he added. "The workings of your world are way too complicated for us."

" _Complicated_?" Captain Harkness grinned. "Doc, you've got two scientific degrees and your brains are considerably bigger than ours!"

"I didn't mean that we are _stupid_ ," Doctor N'go clarified. "We are not. Science is easy: facts, experiments, conclusions. But your _thinking_ is unnecessarily convulted."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Captain Harkness laughed.

"You shouldn't," Doctor N'go replied. "It wasn't one. Come now. The others want to meet you, too. You haven't visited us for too long."

* * *

They were led to the centre of the settlement, where the communal kitchens, eating rooms and baths were situated, together with the food storages in the cellar and the security operator's lookout upstairs. Abby was surprised to learn that the individual families didn't cook for themselves but switched kitchen duty each week. The same was, apparently, true for doing the laundry.

"This has always been the way of the Tribe," Doctor N'go explained. "I don't know how other tribes worked, but ours always shared basic duties. Of course, we have adapted to your times in a great many things – we no longer go hunting, for one though we still teach our young ones how to use the hunting spears – but we do not give up the way of our life. Besides, we produce a lot less waste this way."

There were about twenty to twenty-five people in the central building; mostly Neanderthals, but also the one or other human – oddly enough, the latter were all women. There were children, too, some of them clearly hybrids, displaying the characteristics of both subspecies; and every adult but one young man had a strange scar on his or her neck: as if they had been bitten right where the neck met the shoulder.

"Is that… some sort of tribal totem?" Abby asked uncertainly.

Alison Mallard laughed. "Oh, no; that's merely the bond bite."

"The _what_?"

"Members of the Tribe bond for life," Alison explained. "When the bonding ceremony takes place, in front of the full gathering, the bond mates bite each other in that very place, hard enough to break the skin, so that it would visibly scar. They do not kiss – it is not their way – but nuzzle each other's bond mark frequently, so that they would always bear the scent of the other. _Everyone_ within the Tribe can identify anyone else's bond mate by scenting the mark alone. Well… everyone but us joined humans, that is," she corrected herself, laughing. "Our noses are woefully inadequate."

Abby's eyes grew to the size of saucers. "So you, too…"

Alison nodded. "Yes, I am N'go's bond mate. Of course, his mark isn't as clearly outlined as the others'. The People have a very tough hide; blunt human teeth have a hard time to break it. He used to tease me about my feeble attempts a lot."

Abby shuddered by the mere idea. It seemed so barbaric, so animalistic, like something from those Omegaverse stories Connor liked to read in the Supernatural fandom. What on Earth could make an average human woman accept something like that?

"We all have our reasons," Allison replied with a shrug. "Maggie lost her freshly wedded husband on their way to the honeymoon in a freak accident and wanted to jump off a tall building on the anniversary when she met Torchwood. Charys… well, that isn't something we'd talk about to strangers. As for me, at first it was just a job… until I got to know these people better."

"But why just women?"

"Oh, we do have men working with us, even living within the settlement, but none of them felt like joining the Tribe."

"Why not?" Abby thought this would be the perfect lifestyle for freaks who refused what they called the confinements of modern society.

Allison gave her a tolerant smile. "As I already told you, the People bond for life. Human males are, by their very nature, _not_ monogamous."

"But Neanderthals are?"

"The People," Allison corrected. "They call themselves the People. They come from a time period where contacts with our ancestors were sporadic at best; the Tribe never actually met any. N'go is the only one with at least some _Homo sapiens_ genes; which, I guess explains his heights. For the others, they were the only people known to exist."

"The People then," Abby was getting fed up with the older woman's sanctimonious tone. "Are they really monogamous?"

"Yes and no," Allison replied thoughtfully. "They… experiment in their youth, seeking for the right fit, just as we do. But once they've found it – and bonded – no-one else exists for them."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. That is their nature. They're not interested in sex itself. They're seeking a stable bond. I assume they must be wired differently on a hormonal level to ensure the survival of the species. It would be interesting to research, but I'm not a scientist, and they're trying to keep a low profile."

Abby shook her head. "I wouldn't call _this_ a low profile," she said, with a sweeping gesture at their surroundings.

"You'd be surprised how ignorant people can be," Allison said with a shrug. "They enjoy their stay here but rarely give a thought the people who run the place."

Abby had the feeling that the older woman wasn't telling her the whole truth. But before she could have asked any more questions their conversation was interrupted by the return of the unbonded young Neanderthal whose name was apparently Pongo – or P'N'go, as the others pronounced which, as Abby would learn later, meant 'the son of N'go' – who reported that the menagerie had been settled in their respective cages, terrariums and enclosures.

"The 'rock-that-moves' seems to have accepted his new home," he said, his large teeth white in his grinning, deeply tanned face; he was actually almost handsome in his rugged way, with those liquid dark eyes and thick dark curls twisted together on the top of his head. "It is a bit restricted but will do until we get a larger enclosure built."

"You can't put him into a small cage!" Abby protested. "He needs room to move! Mammoths wandered incredible distances…"

"… to find food, yes; which we provide for him, so he doesn't _need_ to wander half across a continent," P'Ngo interrupted. "Forgive me, Miss, but I believe I know a bit more about these beasts than you. I was already going out with the hunters in our old home when we were brought here."

"You modern humans have such romantic ideas about animal needs," Doctor N'go made an amused _'ack! 'ack!_ sound that was probably the Neanderthal equivalent of a chuckle. "The truth is much simpler. Animals migrate to find food and water – and we follow them to hunt. Well; used to. Now we just buy our meat in the food store like everyone else."

"Actually, the Tribe has a contract with several local farmers," Allison corrected. "This place is not suited for animal husbandry. But when the selected animals are about to be slaughtered and processed, most go over to the respective farms and actively take part of the process. This way the younger generation can still be taught the old skills."

"What for?"

"To be prepared," one of the Neanderthal women, whom the others called La'ra, answered seriously. "We cannot be certain that some unknown force won't throw us back to our own time, as unexpectedly as we were brought here. It would be hard enough for _us_ after this comfortable life here; our children wouldn't stand a chance unprepared."

"Which is why we teach them survival skills, herbal lore and simple crafts with basic tools as well," her bond mate, Ge'og, added. "You've spent a full year in a time far before our own, I'm told – you know that sometimes survival is everything."

"How do you know so much about me?" Abby asked warily.

"Mr Lester provided us with some basic information he thought we should have," Allison paused briefly before dropping the bombshell. "Together with the paperwork for your temporary reassignment to our facility."

"What?" Abby felt as if she'd been kicked in the guts. _Lester_ had sent her with the menagerie to _stay_ here? Why would he do that?

"For the next six months," Captain Harkness clarified. "I'm afraid Philip Burton insisted on your removal from the ARC. All James could do was to make it a temporary reassignment, instead of permanent one."

" _Philip_ wanted me gone?" Abby repeated in a complete shock.

"And you provided him with the best excuse," Captain Harkness replied grimly. "He nearly got killed because of your pet lizard. If not for Tosh…"

"It was his own fault! He shouldn't have shut out everyone from the necessary security clearance."

"That's beside the point, Miss Maitland," that blank-faced new PA of Lester's said calmly. _Now_ Abby understood why he'd come with them in the first place. Administrative duties, most likely. "He's within his rights. You were told repeatedly _not_ to let Rex roam freely within the ARC. You chose to ignore those warning. Everything is on record; Mr Burton could have you fired – or even arrested – based on those records. Be glad he wanted to keep Connor in a cooperative mood and only demanded your reassignment."

"And what if I don't _want_ to stay here?"

"You're free to go, of course," Captain Harkness said. "But you won't be allowed to keep your memories of the ARC; you simply know too much."

"You gonna wipe my bloody mind?"

"Nothing so dramatic. We'll just erase some specific memories and replace them with convincing false ones," Captain Harkness beamed at Lester's PA. "Ianto is very good at dosing our little amnesia pill."

"Forget it!" Abby said in determination. "No-one gets to take my memories of the ARC… and Nick… and Stephen… and… and Connor," to her mortification, she broke down in tears. "That was… they were my whole _life_!"

"In that case you'll just have to accept that this will be your home for the next six months," Captain Harkness said. "There are worse places. The company is great, the food is nice, and you can do important work here by taking care of the menagerie. You're a zookeeper by trade, aren't you?"

"Yes, but…"

"And you can teach the kids here self-defence. I mean, they're strong like oxen, but not used to have to defeat themselves against fellow humans," Doctor N'go snorted at that and Captain Harkness gave him one of those blinding white grins of his. "Yes, I know, Doc, no need to be condescending towards us, lowly humans, just because you're the older cousins."

"Jack," Doctor N'go said patiently. "Genetically seen our People have considerably more in common with twenty-first century humans than you; and you know that."

"I do; I just try to forget it from time to time," Captain Harkness replied, and for a moment his every-happy mask fell, revealing the incredibly old soul behind it.

Abby felt very uncomfortable at that sight but Dr N'go remained unfazed.

"Neither of us can run away from what we _are_ ," he said philosophically. "Accepting what _is_ , however, can help us to remain sane."

"Or as sane as we are," Lester's PA deadpanned. "Which is not much, granted, but it's all that we'll ever have."

Abby stared at him in surprise. When did Lester's blank-faced little drone develop a sense of humour? Admittedly, she never spoke as much as two words with the man, not having the patience to deal with bureaucrats. She didn't even bother to learn his name – Jeeves or Jones or something equally meaningless – but she _should_ have noticed that he could be funny, shouldn't she?

She was getting the uncomfortable feeling that there had been a great many tings that she should have noticed since their return from the Cretaceous. Especially where their new colleagues were concerned. Jess was a sweetheart and Matt was mostly okay, but Captain Harkness and his lot – she should have paid more attention to them.

Well, it was too late for that. For the next six months she'd be trapped in this stupid zoo with a bunch of Neanderthals. It sounded like the plot from one of Connor's stupid comics.

Speaking of Connor – what would he do without her? _Somebody_ ought to look after him; to protect him from Philip's schemes, but Abby was sure she couldn't count on the others in this. Nobody really cared for Connor save for her. She'd have to find a way to escape from here, sooner rather than later.

For that, she needed to know better the area, though. So she decided to lie low for the time being, until she became familiar with the _Park_. She needed to make plans that would actually _work_.

~TBC~


	9. Chapter 9

**TIMESCAPES**

 **by Soledad**

 **Author's notes:** Yes, I know that the Wychfield featuring in Episode 4.04 likely didn't lie in Wales. I just wanted to create a canon link to Torchwood. Fits under the AU label, or so I hope.

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

The _Cock Tavern_ of Wychfield had a lot in common with the nameless pub of the cannibals in the Brecon Beacons, Ianto found, when he got off his bike and entered the building. It was the same dreary, run-down place; the tables and cupboards and the parturitions between boxes made of dark, polished wood, blackened by decades, perhaps centuries of cigarette smoke. Behind the counter a framed newspaper article hung on the wall, sporting the sensationalist title in big, bold font:

 **MONSTER OR MYTH? Village gripped in fear.**

The people sitting at the counter or in the boxes, every single one by themselves, nursing their drink in stone-faced silence, looked a great deal like the tavern itself: grim and dismal, dulled by hard work – or the lack of it – and suspicious towards strangers. Probably superstitious, too, if the framed article on the wall was any indication. At first sight even telling the men from the women seemed a challenge; they looked similar and wore the same clothes – not to mention the same sour expression.

Only the man behind the bar seemed more alert than his customers. Ianto guessed that he might be the village leader in some way, even if not in any official capacity. The others seemed to respect him; much more than they would a simple barman.

Ianto went to the bar, ordered a lager – allowing his Welsh accent to emerge much stronger than usual – and then sat down to an empty table, nursing his beer. He didn't try to start a conversation; that would only make him suspect. He'd leave that to his team-mates. His task was now to listen and to observe, and _that_ was something he did exceedingly well.

For the first couple of minutes he could feel the watchful eyes of the patrons in his back. But as he made no attempt to talk to them – or, indeed to look around – they soon turned their attention back to their drinks and ignored him, just as he knew they would. His Gran had lived in a village like this; he knew how to behave and what to expect.

His tactic proved right when the door opened again and a bearded, russet-haired young man came in. The newcomer looked around as if seeking for somebody, then he went straight to the box next to Ianto's table, where a middle-aged, drab woman was sipping on a single glass of vine. She had the same reddish hair and broad face, and the first words of the young man proved that the resemblance was by no means a coincidence.

"Mam," the woman ignored him so he shook her arm. "Mam, he's gone! The guy in the tent."

Ianto's ears perked up, although he was careful to keep a bland face. _Now_ they were making some headway! The young man could only be speaking about the boy whose vid Connor had watched. The boy attacked and presumably killed by some unknown creature.

"Good," the woman didn't seem particularly impressed. "One less thing to worry about."

No, these people clearly didn't like strangers snooping around their village. Not that Ianto would blame them. He was one who valued his privacy very much, too. And life in the Welsh countryside was harsh enough without tourists on a monster hunt.

"But he's gone!" the young man argued. "The Worm got him!"

His mother gave him an exasperated look. "Ray!" She exchanged a look with the barman who was watching them. "There _is_ no Worm! Will you stop?"

The young man whose name was apparently Ray looked like somebody who'd like to keep arguing, but his mother returned to her drink and ignored him.

* * *

In the next moment the door opened again and in walked Abby and Connor, drawing everyone's mistrustful looks. They stood out of this crowd like a sore thumb, and Ianto noticed with mild annoyance that they hadn't thought of removing their earpieces before coming in. Were they really stupid, despite Connor's supposedly genius-level intelligence, or had they never dealt with anyone outside of London?"

"Morning", Abby said brightly as they walked to the bar. "Nice day."

She leaned on the counter; the only other customer standing there walked away, without a word. The barman draught two beers – a pint and a half and put them down on the counter in front of them; the larger one before Connor, who tried to react wittingly.

"I suppose a white wine spritzer's out of the question?"

The barman switched the two bears and stared at them with a blank face.

"Ah, thanks," Connor said with a forced smile.

Ianto suppressed a grin. Yes, the whole situation was probably more dangerous than Abby and Connor might believe – especially if _some_ of the locals were hiding the creature for whatever reason – but he couldn't help but admire his fellow countrymen for the ability of making strangers uncomfortable without any effort.

He only hoped they wouldn't turn out to be another bunch of in-bred cannibals cos' that would be taking the attitude a tad too far.

"Hey!" a voice with a familiar Irish lilt said from behind them and Matt appeared at their side as if out of thin air; the man was good at blending in, too, Ianto had to give him _that_. "A bit early, isn't it? Even for you two."

He sounded ridiculously like an exasperated teacher dealing with difficult teenage students. Even the locals seemed amused, although no-one save for Ianto would realize _that_.

Matt looked around, pretended to notice the framed newspaper article for the first time and asked nonchalantly, "So which field cove has a mythical creature?"

The deliberate pun nearly made Ianto choke on his bear. _Nearly_. Fortunately, he was used to worse things from Jack.

The barman put a bear down in front of Matt, who continued, unfazed, "I'd love to know more."

The barman briefly glanced at the article; then at Matt again. "Like I told the kid camping up on the headland, superstitious nonsense," he said.

From the corner of his eye Ianto saw Ray and his mother leave the tavern and became even more certain than before that the creature actually _did_ exist.

"So no one's actually seen this creature, then?" Abby asked, trying to get at least _some_ answers as long as the man showed any willingness to talk to them.

The barman leaned closer over the counter. "Only children and drunks believe in the Worm," he said, and then he turned his back to them.

That was pretty much the end of the conversation. Matt, Abby and Connor left the tavern without getting any useful clues. Ianto remained behind to watch the reactions of the locals – assuming they would show any, which was more than a little doubtful.

* * *

Back at the ARC Tosh was reporting Lester what she'd found out about the Wychfield Worm.

"Apparently, people and livestock have been going missing round here for decades," she explained. "Either a creature's been here all that time…"

"Or the anomaly keeps reoccurring," Philip, who'd stayed with them to hear the results, finished for her.

She nodded. "And different creatures are moving back and forth. Most of the possible sightings have been out in the headland."

" _Somebody_ ought to check up there," Philip suggested.

"They're already at it," Tosh replied. "Matt has sent Abby and Connor to look for the creature, while he and Jack will try to find the kid the barman mentioned."

"You suppose it's the same one Connor watched on the Internet?" Lester asked. "Because if it is, there's little hope they'd find him."

"They can always find traces of him," Tosh pointed out. "Traces that might lead them to the lair of the creature."

"And what's Ianto doing?" Philip asked.

"Observing the locals," Tosh replied simply. "If they're hiding _anything_ Ianto will find it."

"Very well," Lester said. "Hand over the ADC to Jess and focus on keeping contact with the team. That way we won't overlook anything. Oh, and keep me informed."

"Yes, sir," Tosh vacated her seat for Jess and plugged in her Torchwood-issue laptop to connect with Jack's earpiece. Lester retreated to his office; Philip, however, kept hovering, for no apparent reason.

"When are you going off-duty?" he finally asked Tosh.

"Officially at two pm, since my shift started at six in the morning," she replied, without looking up from her screen. "Practically… whenever Jack and Ianto are back. Why?"

"I was wondering if you'd be interested in a visit to a private spa," Philip said cautiously.

 _That_ made her look up for a moment. "What for?"

"Well, what does one visit a spa for?" he asked back. "For thermal and mineral baths, aroma therapy, professional massages… that sort of thing. All very refreshing and relaxing, I assure you."

"I wouldn't know," Tosh, who could never afford to go to such places, muttered. "And what comes after all that refreshing and relaxing? Wild monkey sex?"

"Actually, I was thinking along the lines of ordering high tea, but if you have… err… _other_ interests, I'll be able to accommodate," the rakish grin transformed Philip's face, making him look at least ten years younger. "Seeing that I actually _own_ the place and all that."

Tosh acknowledged Jack's short report – telling that they hadn't found anything conclusive yet – and then looked up at Philip with a frown.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm familiar with tension headaches caused by an overactive mind," he replied, serious again. "Your neck muscles are so hard it's painful to see. Tell me, Toshiko, when was the last time you did something for yourself?"

Tosh couldn't really answer to that. In truth the last time she _believed_ she was doing something for herself Mary – or rather the murderous alien masquerading as Mary – had been manipulating her to do its bidding.

That wasn't something she liked to remember.

"I thought so," Philip said, guessing the answer she wouldn't give him. "I think you're overdue to some pampering – or do you need to ask Captain Harkness's permission first?"

Tosh shook her head. "Jack doesn't interfere with our private lives – as far as we have those – unless they clash with work. You may not believe it, seeing his public persona, but he's actually a very private man."

"So why are you hesitating then?" Philip asked, a little impatiently.

"Because I don't know what your true agenda is," Tosh answered slowly.

Philip rolled his eyes in frustration. "I don't _have_ any hidden agenda! I told you from the beginning that I'd like to win you for _Prospero_ , as soon as your indenture to Torchwood is over. We both know that your intellect is wasted there and that you could have a great impact on our research. And yes, I _would_ like to sleep with you – who in his right mind wouldn't? You're smart and beautiful and I happen to find women with your level of intelligence sheer irresistible. You deserve better treatment than you'd had in the last decade or so," he paused, and as Tosh didn't give him any answer, he added almost pleadingly. "Allow me to do these little things for you!"

Tosh felt her resolve crumbling because it was true that no-one ever valued her for _who_ she was. Even Jack only appreciated _what_ she could do for him – for Torchwood. All this coming from a Nobel Prize winner, certified genius was beyond flattering. And a relaxing bath and a massage, followed by high tea, sounded wonderful indeed.

(She still hadn't made up her mind about the possibility of wild monkey sex.)

"I can't leave here before this mission is over," she said.

Philip nodded. "Of course. I want to see what they'll find out about the anomaly, too. Job first. I'll announce us at the spa later."

* * *

Ianto watched the barman watch Matt, Abby and Connor through the window, discussing with himself what to do. He could follow them, or he could follow Ray and his Mam. Staying in the tavern made no sense; either the locals were not interested in the whole affair or they didn't buy his travelling student act. In either case, they remained silent. He couldn't hope to learn anything for them. Not this time.

Drinking the rest of his beer, he left the tavern and cycled out of anyone's eyesight before putting his earpiece back and contacting Jack.

"Matt and I are going to look for the boy camping in the headlands," Jack told him. "If the vid Connor saw was genuine, he's been attacked and dragged away. Abby and Connor are looking for the creature in the places of the latest sightings."

"Meaning the farms, I reckon," Ianto said. Jack acknowledged his guess. "Then I'll better follow them. The farmers here don't like trespassers; they might get in trouble."

"You can home on to their black boxes," Jack agreed. "But Ianto… be careful. You may be Welsh, but for these people you're a stranger, too."

"I know," Ianto replied. "Let's hope they won't want to eat us, at the very least, although that woman does give me the creeps. See if you can find a tractor somewhere, just in case."

Jack clearly didn't find the reminder of their close call funny. Not the least.

"Just be careful," he repeated. "And keep in touch."

"Yes, sir," Ianto got back on his bike and cycled after his quickly moving away charges from a reasonable distance. There was no need to make the locals realise that they were working together, after all.

* * *

Matt, in the meantime, had returned to the Torchwood SUV, next to which he'd parked his own car upon his arrival. Jack was already waiting for him, ready to go; but instead the ARC-issue stunner, be was brandishing a mean-looking weapon known to a selected few as The Torchwood Big Gun.

Matt didn't belong to aforementioned selected few but he recognised a big calibre rifle if he saw one. He gave the gun a wary look.

"I don't think this… _thing_ is authorised," he said. " _Or_ necessary."

"And _I_ don't care," Jack returned sharply. "I'm not gonna put Ianto – or those young idiots – at risk because of your creature-related sensitivities."

"What about the butterfly effect then?" Matt asked.

Jack shook his head. "That's a myth. You of all people ought to know that history can't be changed so easily. I'm not for needlessly massacring any prehistoric creatures, but the death of a few selected individuals won't lead to a planetwide disaster. Evolution always finds its way around small hindrances."

"If that's true, then what I'm doing here, in this time period, is meaningless, too," Matt pointed out.

"Bullshit," Jack replied succinctly. "People in key power positions don't equal to prehistoric monsters. Now, we can keep arguing here until the creature eats a few more people, or we can go and see what can we find about the kid that made that video – it's up to you."

Matt gave him an annoyed look but couldn't really argued with him, since he was right and they both knew it. So they secured the cars and went on to find the blogger kid – or, at least, some traces of him –, Jack keeping the Big Gun ready.

* * *

Ianto caught up with Abby and Connor right when they entered the property of some farmer, blithely ignoring the clearly visible NO TRESPASSING sign.

"Idiots!" he muttered angrily, leaning his bike against a tree well _outside_ the property, and touched his earpiece."

"Jack, Abby and Connor have just walked onto somebody's land without asking. I expect trouble."

"Can you handle it on your own?" Jack asked.

Ianto smiled beatifically, even though Jack couldn't actually _see_ him.

"Of course, sir. I've got my manners – _and_ my stun gun."

"Sounds like a lethal combination," Jack agreed. "Go and rescue them – and be careful!"

"Yes, Mam," Ianto replied and broke the connection.

He had to hurry up if he didn't want to lose sight of the other two among the farm buildings – it was a place built without any visible order. Fortunately for him, even after years with the ARC (not to mention the year spent in the Cretaceous), Connor was still unable to keep his mouth shut on a potentially dangerous mission.

"This place is well creepy," the young man was giggling stupidly. "All we need now is a weird kid sat on a porch, playing a banjo."

Ianto did get the allusion, of course, he was a young person himself, familiar with pop culture references, but he found it increasingly hard to keep his annoyance in check when around Connor. He knew he was being unfair; the young man had no way to know just _how_ creepy the Welsh countryside could be, but really, if one walked into somebody's property without as much as by-your-leave, one ought to keep a low profile.

Somehow Ianto doubted that Connor would know what a low profile _was_ , though.

Abby, too, was ignoring Connor's stupid comments; she probably had a great deal of practice in _that_. She was examining what appeared to be a large footprint in the mud, poking it with a twig she found nearby. The end of the twig came up covered in slime.

"What is it?" Connor asked, finally realising that they've actually _found_ something.

Abby shrugged, not really having a clue but mildly concerned by the found.

"I don't know any farm animal that produces a mucus like that," she said, throwing away the twig and readying her gun. Connor followed suit.

"Maybe it's a giant snail," he commented in another attack of juvenile humour. "At last, a creature we're going to be able to outrun."

Abby clearly didn't find the comment funny; and neither did Ianto, to be honest. Connor's attempts to be funny were on a spectrum between annoying and painful on the best days; and _this_ definitely wasn't one of those days.

As if proving him right, a loud noise came from one of the barns; not unlike a minor explosion. Abby and Connor ran in the direction carelessly; Ianto found it better to go around several buildings and approach the barn from the other side, where he could peek through a small window.

To his disappointment – or relief, it was hard to decide – the barn turned out empty. Well, empty of any people, that is. There was a lot of machinery in there, old and rusty and run-down and most likely dangerous to handle, as it was often the case in the countryside where people simply didn't have the money to get better equipment.

In any case, the sight wasn't exactly encouraging.

Connor clearly shared the sentiment. "

"See, now I'm thinking Texas Chain Saw Massacre," he quipped.

Abby was still ignoring him, which, in Ianto's experience, was the best tactic. Any reaction only encouraged Connor to further stupid comments, as a rule.

She was examining one of the rusty taps, drawing a finger under it and sniffling.

"Petrol," she stated.

Before Connor could have said anything, the pointy ends of a hayfork touched his back, and a rough female voice said with a heavy Welsh accent.

"Turn around slowly! You are on private property! Now, put those weapons on the ground."

Ianto cursed inwardly. He'd chosen to follow Abby and Connor because those two were real trouble magnets (especially Connor), but _somebody_ ought to have followed Ray and his creepy mam as well. This was the curse of having too small a team; something Jack couldn't – or wouldn't – understand.

At least Connor had the mother wit to obey, at least temporarily, though he tried to persuade Ray's mam that their weapons weren't really weapons. She did not believe him, for which Ianto couldn't really blame her. The ARC issue stunners _did_ look like something straight out of _Star Wars_.

"Put them on the ground," she repeated, waving the hayfork disturbingly close to their eyes.

"Fine," Connor said nervously. "Putting it down," and he did, Abby following suit.

Ray's mam wasn't done with them, though.

"And those earpieces," she ordered, "take them out."

"Really?" Connor's reaction couldn't have been any more idiotic, even if he'd tried. What did he expect? This might have been a rural village, but it did exist in the 21st century, too. People had TVs, and they knew what such an earpiece was for.

"Out!" Ray's mam repeated. "Now!"

"Okay," Abby and Connor obeyed, throwing their earpieces to the ground.

Ianto made a mental note to collect them later; they couldn't just leave suspicious equipment behind. These people had no idea how proper clean-up was done, obviously.

Ray's mam didn't seem reassured by the obedience of her captives. Not a bit; not that Ianto would expect her to be. People living in the countryside were a tough lot.

"Why are you on my land?" she demanded. "You're not police."

Ianto found it telling that she'd think of the police first. That could only mean that she was involved in some illegal activities; activities that probably didn't have to do with the creature but were heavily frowned upon by the authorities.

"No," Connor was eager to reassure her. "No, we're not. We're not police. We're just interested in the Worm. That's all. All the sightings that happened round here."

Which was a convincing tale, even with a kernel of truth; _if_ one didn't try to sell it to an observant and suspicious Welshwoman who was clearly smarter than one would give her credit for based on her plain looks.

"Tourists, are you?" she asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "Carrying weapons like that? I don't think so."

As expected, Connor was the first to lose his nerves.

"Okay," he said, fed up with the whole situation and not hiding it. "All right. You want the truth?"

Ianto groaned inwardly as Ray's mum answered in the positive and the young idiot began to prattle out the fairly unbelievable truth. Clean-up promised to be a nightmare; they might end up Retconning half the village. And _he_ would be the one doing it, as no-one of the suspicious villagers would accept a drink from Jack.

Or from Matt, for that matter, even if Jack entrusted the amnesia pill to him.

Which Jack wouldn't do. Not in a thousand years.

Ianto pulled out his Torchwood-issue stun gun and hurried around the barn, taking advantage of the fact that Ray's mam was distracted by Connor's story.

Which she clearly _didn't_ believe.

"Secret government department? Prehistoric creature?" she repeated scornfully. "Do you take me for an idiot?" And she brought her hayfork closer to Abby's throat, the razor sharp points touching her skin, almost but not quite drawing blood. "Now, tell me why you're really here."

"They just have," Ianto stated calmly. "It isn't their fault that you won't believe them, ma'am."

Abby used the older woman's distraction to kick the hayfork out of her hand. At the same time Ianto pressed the stun gun to the back of her neck and pulled the trigger. She dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Connor stared at Ianto in shock. "Did you kill her?"

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous," Ianto checked the eyes of the woman, just in case she had a weak heart. The stun gun was basically harmless, but one could never know. "She'll wake up in half an hour with a headache, that's all. Now, pick up your weapons and earpieces and let's go. We shouldn't leave any evidence behind."

Abby and Connor did as they were told (for a change), while Ianto contacted Jack.

"The creature definitely came through here, if the footprints are any indication," he reported. "We may have to Retcon the woman whom these lands belong; but I have the impression that she knows more about the creature than she's willing to admit. Further observation might prove useful."

"That has to wait," Jack replied. "Matt and I found body parts in the river; most likely from the boy who made those vids. We're following the trail, but we need the rest of you, too, as we still have no idea what we're dealing with."

"Understood," Ianto pulled the alien equivalent of a GPS from his pocket. "I've locked on to your wrist strap. We're on our way."

* * *

At the same time Jess and Lester were watching on the computer screen in his office Emily being dragged away at knife-point by a bearded young man.

"I found this on CCTV near Matt's flat," Jess explained.

Lester shook his head in clear annoyance. "What on earth is going on?"

I guess this is that Ethan character," Jess replied helpfully, "and he's kidnapping her."

Lester rolled his eyes. "Yes, I can see _that_. I mean, why do it here? You know, why can't he kidnap her in the Jurassic era where it's not _my_ problem?

Understandably enough, Jess didn't really have an answer to that.

"Becker fit for duty?" Lester asked after a moment of consideration.

Jess shook her head. "No, he's still on medical leave."

"Yeah, of course he is," Lester said unhappily. Then, after some more thinking, he came to a decision. "Right. Pull Matt out of the field. And… don't tell Philip."

Jess simply nodded. There wasn't any real need for that last warning, but she could understand why was Lester slightly concerned about Philip discovering Emily's continued presence. She was a trained agent, after all, despite her youth.

Trained by Mr Holmes's enigmatic PA, of all people, which meant that very few things could frighten – or _stop_ – her in the line of duty.

"He's with Doctor Sato, trying to track down the anomaly," she said. "Speaking of which, sir, should I pull out Captain Harkness as well?"

She always called Lester _sir_ when they were alone; something Lester secretly appreciated. A lot. He only hoped she wouldn't slip within the earshot of the others. They didn't need to know that she was more than an unusually talented techie.

Far more, in fact.

"Do you think Abby and Connor can deal with the creature on their own?" he asked pessimistically.

"They survived a year in the Cretaceous," Jess reminded him. "Besides, they still have Ianto with them. He might not have much experience with dinosaurs, but he's been hunting down malevolent aliens for the last couple of years."

Lester gave her a suspicious glare. "And how, pray tell, do _you_ know about that?"

"Mr Holmes saw that I was thoroughly briefed about my future co-workers," Jess replied matter-of-factly. "Well, actually Miss Anthea did, but…"

"… but that's the same," Lester finished for her. "All right, pull Harkness out as well; assuming you can speak to him without Philip listening in."

"Don't worry, sir; Tosh – I mean Doctor Sato – showed me how to connect with his earpiece on a secure channel, using the Torchwood satellite instead of the system _Prospero_ built for us. May I?" she waved in the direction of Lester's laptop, and he made an inviting gesture.

"By all means, be my guest."


	10. Chapter 10

**TIMESCAPES**

 **by Soledad**

 **Author's notes:** Yes, I know that the Wychfield featuring in Episode 4.04 likely didn't lie in Wales. I just wanted to create a canon link to Torchwood. Fits under the AU label, or so I hope.

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

Jack reached Matt's position just in time to spot the long, sinuous creature swimming in the river. It was slithering in the water the same way a snake would slither in the dust – only that it clearly wasn't a snake, however giant, as it was steering itself with the help of four short, broad legs. Its long, trailing tail served to propel it forward with impressive speed; obviously, water was its natural element, in which it moved with a grace that belied its size.

Unfortunately, it also moved directly towards a clueless fisherman that had the lack of common sense to play some loud music on his CD-player while waiting for the fish to bite. Clearly, the fish in this river were deaf; but that was Matt's least problem right now.

"Get away from the water!" he yelled at the guy who, of course, didn't hear him.

Repeating the warning several times proved futile, even though Jack joined him and together the two of them made enough noise to alert even the creature in the water. For a moment it turned its broad head in their direction, but then decided to stick to its original route.

More so as the fishing guy seemed to have luck in the meantime. _Something_ had bitten, and he was deliriously happy pulling up a fat fish as long as his arm; a catch that could have earned him an award in any fishing competition. His joy was short-lived, though, as in that very moment the huge prehistoric creature reached the spot and clearly bit his trophy in half – only to turn to _him_ next.

"Go! Get away!" Matt yelled at the petrified fisherman, running down to the river bank with the best speed he could manage, Jack hot on his heels. "Go! Move!"

The man, however, was too shocked to do so, staring at the creature that was going to land with eyes large as dinner plates. With a gargantuan leap, Jack threw himself at the man, pushing him out of the way of immediate danger, while Matt shot the creature.

He aimed well and hit the… thing clear in the side. Unfortunately, the effect was minimal. The creature shook its head, turned around in a wide arc and slithered back into the water, its swishing tail knocking Jack off his feet so that he ended up on the rocky ground with a broken neck.

The fisherman stared at him in horror. "Is he dead?"

"Nah, he's tougher than that," Matt replied without checking.

He knew that Time Agents from the far future were resistant and had advanced healing abilities. Captain Harkness had already survived worse than a bump on the head since being reassigned to the ARC. The man was tough.

"What about you?" he asked the fisherman.

"I'm fine; just scared shitless," the guy patted himself down to make sure he wasn't lacking any vital body parts. "What the hell was _that_? The Worm of Wychfield? I thought that would be a myth!"

He must have been some tourist backpacking across the countryside because he lacked any Welsh accent; on any share in the local superstitions, if his doubtful tone was any indication.

Matt shrugged. "No idea. Perhaps just local wildlife."

"But we must alert the authorities," the fisherman insisted. "This… this beast is dangerous!"

" _We_ are the authorities," Matt replied calmly. "More of our colleagues are on the way here. We'll deal with the situation. You, though, would do better forgetting about it."

"Are you kidding?" the guy exclaimed. "This is the proof that Joe, the bloke who made all those vids, was right!"

"Yes; and now he's dead," Matt said dryly. "And _you_ 've nearly died, too. The last thing we need are more amateur monster hunters coming here, hindering us in doing our jobs and getting killed in the process."

The guy opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by the arrival of Abby, Connor and Ianto.

"Have you seen the creature?" Ianto asked.

Matt nodded. "Twenty, twenty-five feet long amphibian. Wide head, short legs."

"Labyrinthodont," Connor promoted. "Otherwise known as the Koolasuchus. A large aquatic predator from the Early Cretaceous that lived in fast-moving streams."

Matt nodded again. "That'd be my guess, too. It's heading upstream."

"We need to contain it," Abby said. "The sooner the better."

That much was obvious. Ianto, however, had other concerns.

"Where's Jack?" he demanded.

Matt gestured towards the still motionless body of their deputy chief of security. "Injured, obviously. Perhaps you should check on him while we follow the creature."

"Oh, I will, don't worry!" There was something… _dark_ in Ianto's voice that made even Matt stop in his track. "Leave clean-up and damage control to me; you've done quite enough."

Before Matt could have answered, Jess called them via their earpieces.

"Matt, there's news on Emily. Ethan took her from your flat. He had a knife. Lester wants you back here, _now_."

For a moment they were all shocked – even Ianto, who was cradling Jack's head, although for different reasons. Abby was the first to recover.

"We'll handle it," she said to Matt, and Connor nodded.

"Go."

Matt didn't need to be told twice. He ran off.

"Okay," Abby said to Connor. "You take the other bank. It's bound to come out eventually."

"There's a bridge three hundred metres upstream," Ianto offered. "I'll clean up Jack and we'll follow you in a minute."

Abby and Connor nodded in unison and ran off.

* * *

A few minutes later Jack gasped back to life with a moderately bad headache – and noticed that his head was resting on Ianto's knee. He was mildly pissed off nonetheless.

"Not again!" he exclaimed in disgust. "What's this with these creatures and their prehensile tails? This is what? The second time in as many weeks?"

Ianto ignored his ramblings, resisting the temptation to tell him that the Koolasuchus _didn't_ have a prehensile tail; just a very fast and strong one.

"How are you?" he asked instead. "Headache?"

"Middling," Jack admitted. "Coffee will help, assuming you have any."

"Always," Ianto took off his backpack and fished out a thermos and some paper cups. "What about you?" he asked the still petrified fisherman. "Fancy a cuppa?"

"You should," Jack said to the hesitant guy. "Ianto's coffee is a unique experience."

The fisherman – whose name was Al, as he subsequently told them – finally agreed, and the three of them shared Ianto's fantastic coffee. Not even Jack could spot the moment, despite paying close attention, when Ianto dropped a low dose of Retcon into Al's coffee cup.

Even a low dose was enough to make the young man extremely tired, though, and he soon fell asleep where he was sitting on the ground.

"We have no choice but leave him here," Ianto said, not liking it at all. He'll think he'd fallen asleep while fishing. I just hope we can take care of the creature in the meantime and are not putting him at risk."

He briefly informed Jack about the most recent events and – after a short consultation with Jess – Jack agreed to go after Matt.

"He might need help," he said to Ianto. "And besides, I don't like to leave him unsupervised. We still can't be sure that he's told us the complete truth."

"Take the SUV," Ianto suggested. "You can track him down easier that way. I'll take Abby back to the _Prehistoric Park_ when we're done."

"Owen will be deliriously happy to see you," Jack replied with a crooked grin; then he became serious again. "I know _I am_. Thanks for being here when I came back."

"Always, if I can; I've promised, haven't I?" Ianto kissed him briefly. "Go now. I need to catch up with our intrepid dinosaur hunters before they get in even more trouble."

* * *

Back at the ARC Philip left Tosh alone at her laptop and returned to the AD centre, taking Jess's currently vacated seat to check on the anomaly. Jess, for her part, found that fact slightly alarming – after all, she was supposed to keep in touch with the team _without_ Philip knowing that half of said team had been dispatched elsewhere. So did, apparently, Lester, as he came out of his office to see what was going on.

Philip was so focused on his search that it took him almost a minute to notice Jess standing behind him.

"What is it, Jess?" he asked, a little impatiently, without looking at her.

"That's _my_ seat," Jess reminded him, mildly affronted.

Philip ignored her, continuing his search. Looking down from his office, Lester made typing gestures, raising a questioning eyebrow at Jess. She just shrugged, having no idea what Philip was doing. After a moment of hesitation Lester returned to his office with an unhappy frown.

Philip continued his search until the klaxons of the anomaly alert started sounding. His face lit up like a birthday cake at the sound.

"Gotcha!" he muttered triumphantly.

Resisting the urge to boot him out of her chair, Jess sat down next to him to triangulate.

"Abby, Connor, we've got a signal," she told the team; well, the half of the team she knew to be still around there.

"Yep, got it," Connor's voice answered.

Apparently, the portable anomaly detector picked up the signal, too, which was a relief. The sooner they got the situation under control, the better.

"Connor! There's tracks," Abby's voice said. "It came out here."

"Forget about the tracks," Philip interrupted, still not happy that Abby had been drafted for this particular mission – and against his wishes at that. "Prioritise the anomaly. I want you to find it _now_."

"Disregard that order," Lester walked in, his voice positively glacial. "Jess, tell them to find and contain the creature."

Philip rose from Jess's seat and looked at him in annoyance.

" _Something_ is keeping that anomaly in a suspended state," he said. "Now, whatever it is might give us a vital clue as to how and why they appear."

Which was certainly true. Unfortunately for Philip, it was a scientific truth only Tosh – and probably Connor – would appreciate. And the one with the right to dispose over the field teams was still Lester.

"No priority's greater than human life," that worthy gentleman said. "Jess, do it."

Jess nodded and switched on the radio to contact the team. "Connor, Abby, Lester says keep on the creature's trail."

Philip, however, wasn't giving up just yet.

"Connor, you understand the importance of this," he insisted. "I want you to get a black box in front of that anomaly as soon as possible!"

"Yeah, I understand," Connor's voice clearly revealed his discomfort, "but we really…"

"I suggest that we split up," a third voice, one with a lilting Welsh accent interfered smoothly. "Connor and I can find the anomaly, while Miss Maitland tracks down the creature."

"Not on her own!" Connor protested, but Philip couldn't be stopped any longer.

"Matt and Captain Harkness can go with her," he said.

"I'm afraid Captain Harkness has been called away in a different matter," the smooth Welsh voice replied. "As for Mr Anderson…"

"His radio's down," Abby's voice interrupted, "but we're on it."

"Splendid," Philip replied, satisfied that he got his wish, despite Lester's intervention. "Keep me informed!"

* * *

"Sure," Connor answered to the empty air as the connection had already been broken; then he deactivated his earpiece and whistled over to Abby on the other river bank. "Don't go on your own. You wait for backup, okay?"

"It'll take too long," Abby insisted. "We can't let more people getting hurt."

Connor hesitated between his urge to find the anomaly and his wish to protect the girl on whom he'd had a crush for years.

"Okay, well, stay there," he said, coming to a decision. "I'll come with you. You need some help."

Which was clearly the wrong thing to say because Abby went ballistic at once.

"Connor, I can handle it. I don't need you or backup or Philip telling me how to do my job. Okay?"

And she stormed off, conveniently forgetting that this wasn't actually her job any longer; that she was merely on loan, because Captain Harkness wanted her here.

"Great," Connor muttered angrily. "Now what? She's tough, but she really can't take on a Labyrinthodont on her own. No-one can."

Ianto patted his arm encouragingly. "Don't worry. I've called in reinforcements as soon as Jack and Matt were pulled out."

"You have?" Connor was pleasantly surprised.

Ianto nodded. "Of course. I've done this sort of work for years, too. Well, not exactly dinosaurs, but something every bit as dangerous."

"Really? What did you do before?"

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you. But trust me; I know what I'm doing."

"Okay," Connor said, still a little uncertainly. "But will the cavalry arrive in time? London isn't exactly in the neighbourhood."

"They aren't coming from London," Ianto put back his earpiece. "Now, let's see if we can find that anomaly for Mr Burton – and collect as many data for Tosh as possible, shall we?"

* * *

Unaware of Ianto's contingency plans – or, in fact, of _any_ contingency plans at all – Abby focused on tracking the creature on the other river bank. The tracks led her to some sort of camping place, fenced off by corroded metal bars. On some of them she discovered the same sort of go as seen on the Lennon farm, but before she could have informed Connor, she heard high-pitched screams ahead of her.

Weapon readied, she followed the screams into the actual camping site, where a dozen or so battered camper vans were standing around.

At first sight the place seemed abandoned. On a washing line fastened between two vans a blanket of some sort was fluttering in the wind. On one side there was a turned-over grill, the charcoal in it still burning. That, in itself, was the height of stupidity; it could have caused the whole place to burn down to the ground.

But she didn't have the time to put out the fire as there were more screams ahead. Running toward the source of the noise she found, to her dismay, two kids of about ten or twelve, spraying each other with their super soakers liberally – and clearly having a good time, unaware of any dangers lurking nearby.

They had to have come down to a river with their families and probably weren't locals, either. There was a life-sized rubber crocodile hanging from one of the vans and a bright blue inflatable boat leaning against another one; an almost shockingly normal sight when one knew of the risk they were exposed to. No adults appeared to be present, making Abby wonder where _they_ might be and why had they left the kids alone.

She was thinking furiously how to keep the kids safe. They, for their part, were staring at her weapon with eyes of the size of saucers.

"Boys," she said in a low voice, trying to stay calm so that they won't panic and do anything stupid, "get inside. Lock the door."

That wasn't the ideal solution, of course, given the size of the creature, but still better than facing it directly. The little fools, though, didn't realize the danger – how could they? – and were more interested in her admittedly futuristic-looking weapon.

"Nice gun," one of them said. "Can we see it…?"

Before he could have finished the question, though, a big chunk of torn-up earth flung in the middle of them, presumably hurled over by the incredibly strong, agile tail of the Labyrinthodont.

Which meant that the creature couldn't be very far… and was probably pissed off.

"Run!" Abby screamed and the kids, sensibly enough, did as they were told.

Turning around slowly, Abby intended to scout the area but found herself facing the creature in a disturbingly close distance. Despite her earlier experiences with prehistoric monsters, she had to admit that the Labyrinthodont was an intimidating specimen. When it raised the first half of its long, sinuous body, it looked like a gigantic cobra, ready to strike, despite the short, clawed legs attached to said body right behind its broad head.

It did attack the same way as a striking cobra, too, unlikely though it seemed, considering its size: by whipping its raised body forward with a deep growl. As it missed, though – likely more suited to hit its prey in water – it dropped back onto its front legs, made a quick turn and swept Abby off her feet with a whipcord-fast move of its tail.

The impact knocked the weapon out of Abby's hand – it flew away in a wide arc and landed under the van with the blue boat leaned against its side.

Turning again, the creature spotted the running kids – making Abby think that it reacted more to noises and movement than to actual sight – and went right after them. The kids had the common sense to seek refuge under one of the vans where the big head if the creature wouldn't fit. It tried to knock the van over, but it was a heavy vehicle, secured to the ground, so the Labyrinthodont gave up after a few tries.

That didn't help Abby, though, who was still unarmed and unprotected – and now the creature's main target. She ran to one of the smaller vans to hide in it but found it closed, to her rising panic.

"Catch!" a deep, vaguely familiar voice yelled and she felt rather than saw the keys fly in her direction. She caught them instinctively and after a few abortive attempts managed to get into the vehicle in the last second.

That only served to anger the creature even more, of course. It was now banging against the side of the van, trying to turn it over and get her.

* * *

Connor and Ianto, in the meantime, had been following the signal of the anomaly back over the hills. Using the detailed map on his Torchwood-issue device as well as his photographic memory, Ianto soon identified the direction in which they were heading.

"We're getting back to the Lennon farm," he said in mild surprise.

Connor gave him a blank look. "What?"

"The woman who caught you sniffling around her farm, her name's Moira Lennon," Ianto explained. "She's a widow, has been one for the last fifteen years, and raised her son alone, without any help. No wonder she wouldn't take shit from anyone; especially from strangers trespassing her lands."

"How do you know all this?" Connor was duly impressed.

Ianto shrugged. "It's called research; and Tosh is very good at it. It's her job, after all."

"Philip wants her to work for _Prospero_ ," Connor blurted out, with a hint of underlying jealousy in his voice. "He wants to win her over very much. I… I think he fancies her, too."

Ianto nodded. "So she told us. But she has a binding contract with Torchwood and won't be able to accept any other job offers until it runs out."

"Unless Philip buys her out of her contract," Connor pointed out cynically. "He can afford it, you know."

In which case Philip wouldn't need _him_ , not even temporarily. It was a bitter though. Ianto, however, shook his head.

"Mr Burton will learn that money can't buy _everything_ ; besides, Tosh knows where her loyalties ought to lie."

"Which would be Torchwood?" Connor asked.

"Which would be Jack Harkness," Ianto corrected. "He gave us all second chances after some grave mistakes that could have lead to truly disastrous mistakes – not only for us personally. We are _his_ team of misfits, even though right now we're working for the ARC…"

He interrupted himself, hearing voices from ahead – namely those of Ray Lennon and his mam, who were dumping something from plastic canisters into a small brook.

"Dump the last of that," Moira Lennon ordered her son and Ray obeyed.

Ianto hurriedly dragged Connor into the cover of a low stone wall and gestured him to shut up. Miraculously enough, Connor did as he was told. After a few moments Ianto peeked over the wall and nodded.

"They're gone; for now. Time to check on Abby's progress.

Connor didn't need to be told again. "Abby? Abby, you okay?"

"Fine," Abby replied, a little breathlessly.

"We're back at the farm," Connor informed her. "The anomaly's here somewhere. You had any luck with the creature?"

"I found the creature," she said, "and back-up's arrived just in time. Everything's under control."

There was some odd background noise and she still sounded a tad breathless. Connor wasn't buying a word.

"She's lying through her teeth," he whispered to Ianto; then, a little louder, he added for Abby, "Are you sure?"

"Connor, I've got a whole team of prehistoric hunters to help me!" Abby sounded more exasperated than breathless now. "We can deal. Just find the anomaly for us; we'll take care of the creature."

She broke the connection. Connor gave Ianto a confused look. "Prehistoric hunters?"

"The adult males from the _Prehistoric Park_ ," Ianto explained. "They're well-trained in fighting oversized predators. Don't worry, she'll be fine. Let's find the anomaly."

* * *

Lester let Jess deal with Philip and the team and went over to the empty office from where Tosh was keeping track on Matt and Jack's progress.

"Connor's en route to the anomaly and Abby's found the creature," he told her. "What news about the damsel in distress and our intrepid heroes bent to rescue her?"

"I'm feeding the CCTV signal to Jack's wrist strap," Tosh replied. "He's almost caught up with Matt. Oddly enough, though, I've now got two black-box signals from Matt – from two different locations. Both are moving quite fast; presumably by car."

"Odd indeed," Lester agreed. "Let me speak with Matt?"

"Sure," Tosh hit some keys on her laptop. "Here, I've got a secure line between the two of them via the Torchwood satellite."

Lester raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. Matt, can you read me?" he then asked.

"Lester?" the background noise revealed that Matt was still driving somewhere. "What are you doing there?"

"Covering for you," Lester replied dryly. "Listen, we've got two blinking dots on the screen, both of them with your name on. That can't be right."

"Emily," Matt said grimly. "She must have taken a black box from my flat."

"Do you always take sensitive equipment out of the ARC and leave it lying around for anybody to pick it up?" Tosh asked acerbically. "Be glad you aren't working for Torchwood; Jack would rip you a new one for that."

"Okay, uh, breaking news," Lester intervened hurriedly before Matt could have answered. "She's travelling eastbound on the fast lane of the motorway at about 80 miles an hour. Now, unless I'm very much mistaken, they didn't have cars in the Victorian era."

"You're correct about hat," Tosh said. "But do we know for sure that this Ethan character, too, originates from that era? Their group used to travel from anomaly to anomaly; who knows where _he_ came from? Or _when_?"

"True," Lester agreed. "When the current crisis is over, I want a thorough research on that man. Perhaps we'll find some trace of him."

"Yes, sir."

"Get me the coordinates," Matt interrupted them brusquely.

"One moment," Tosh did a quick tracking. "They've just stopped at the Tower Hill Cemetery."

"Cemetery?" Matt echoed in obvious surprise.

"They're moving again, but much more slowly," Tosh replied. "Probably on foot; heading for the northwest exit."

"Okay, I'm almost there," they could hear Matt bang the car door closed. "Keep me informed."

"Sure," Tosh rolled her eyes; then she switched channels and called Jack. "Jack, Emily – and probably her kidnapper – is in the Tower Hill Cemetery, heading for the northwest exit. Matt's in pursuit, but you might want to intercept them."

"On my way," Jack said. "I've got her temporal signature saved to my wrist strap; that way I'll be able to track her, even without a black box."

"Just hurry up," Tosh said. "I've got a really bad feeling about this."

"Me, too," Jack replied. "Any news from Ianto?"

"He and Connor are still looking for the anomaly," Tosh reported. "The hunters from the _Prehistoric Park_ have caught up with Abby."

"Good, I'll go and help Matt then. And Tosh…"

"Yes, I know," she interrupted in mild annoyance; sometimes she really felt like a glorified telephone operator. "Go. I'll keep you informed; both of you."

* * *

Following the signal of the anomaly, Connor and Ianto reached the headlands where they fell down to the river – and found nothing.

"Philip, it's not here!" Connor reported in confusion.

"Well, according to these readings, you're right on top of it," Philip replied, the frown they couldn't see almost audible in his voice.

"I can't see it anywhere!" Connor complained.

"What about _that_?" Ianto asked, pointing at a small bay right under their feet, with something like the entrance of a cave opening in the rocky ground.

Connor followed the direction of Ianto's pointing finger and his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Of course I am!" he exclaimed. "It's underneath me."

" _What_?" Philip asked in understandable confusion.

"Later!" Connor replied blithely and was already running down the hillside. "You coming?" he called back over his shoulder to Ianto.

"Under protest," Ianto muttered; then he activated his earpiece. "Jess, Mr Burton, the anomaly is apparently in a cave on a beach under the headland, which is why we couldn't see it from here. Connor is already on his way; I'm going after him."

"Tell him to collect as many data as he can," Philip insisted. "That's the most important thing now!"

"Yes, sir," Ianto replied tolerantly. "I'll contact you as soon as we've found it,"

A field mission in the Welsh countryside was nothing somebody in their right mind would volunteer for, he found. If it wasn't cannibals, it was dinosaurs. He couldn't wait to return to Cardiff and leave the whole mess behind.

As much as he'd originally enjoyed being in London again, the novelty had long worn off and all he wanted was to be back home.

 _Home_ that meant Cardiff in these days.


	11. Chapter 11

**TIMESCAPES**

 **by Soledad**

 **Author's notes:** Yes, I know that the Wychfield featuring in Episode 4.04 likely didn't lie in Wales. I just wanted to create a canon link to Torchwood. Fits under the AU label, or so I hope.

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

Despite Connor's doubts, Abby indeed had the situation on the camping side under control… well, more or less, and with the help of a small team of Neanderthal hunters led by P'N'go.

The two of them were currently trapped in P'N'go's van, while the others tried to keep the creature from breaking through the car windows, using their sturdy hunting spears that could go through the tough hide of a mammoth. For the moment it seemed to work, but it wasn't really a solution.

"Back door's stuck," Abby reported after a few unsuccessful attempts to open it. "What now?"

"We could drive out of here and take the creature with us," P'N'go suggested, "if only we knew _where_."

"Back to the anomaly would be the only safe move," Abby activated her earpiece. "Jess, has Connor found the anomaly?"

"Yes," Jess's voice answered, clearly relieved. "Or he thinks so anyway. It's apparently in a cave on a beach under the headland. I'm sending you the coordinates. Lester says, see if you can get the creature down here."

"No problem," Abby gritted her teeth and grabbed a torch lying on the floor to hit the head of the creature that had just broken the side window and was snapping at her. "I'm on my way."

"The sooner the better," P'N'go muttered; then he called out something to his fellow hunters in their guttural tongue.

They nodded in unison and moved behind the van like the well-oiled unit that they were. Abby had to admit that they worked amazingly well together; which had probably kept them alive while still in their own time.

"They'll follow us on foot," P'N'go told Abby. "Let's get the van and the creature down to the cave."

"I'm on it," Abby started the engine, while P'N'go used his superior strength and hunter's skills to keep the creature from snatching them through the window, although his spear was of no use from this close.

Abby gave him a glance to reassure herself that he could keep them alive for the time being; then she floored the accelerator and headed for the coordinates given her by Jess in a breakneck speed.

The rest of the Neanderthal hunters were jogging after them with surprising ease. There could be no doubt that they'd catch up with them in time, once they stopped.

* * *

Ianto caught up with Connor at the entrance of the cave just in time to stop the young man who was already halfway in.

"Wait," he said. "You can't just storm in heedlessly. We don't know what's in there."

He took out his Torchwood-issue scanner and activated it. The thing beeped and Ianto frowned.

"There _is_ something in there," he said," but it can't be the creature. Abby and the others have it contained, so this must be something else."

"Let's take a look," Connor suggested. "We need to find the anomaly anyway."

Ianto nodded. "Agreed. But let's take some basic security measures, I'll go forward; my scanner can warn us, should there be another creature."

Connor agreed and Ianto entered the cave. The entrance had a sandy floor, the sand finely ripped from the waves that got in regularly.

"No footprints," Ianto stated. "There must be another entrance, which is _not_ good. This place is the proverbial death trap. We must be careful."

Connor only listened to him with half an ear. Most of his attention was caught by the odd, garish colours on the rock wall of the cave. He poked at them and sniffled his fingers.

"Iron ore?" he muttered in surprise.

Ianto shrugged. "No idea. Let's go deeper… but stay alert!"

They continued their careful descent into the cave, trying to avoid the water dripping from the ceiling, and after a short while they reached a gate, made of iron rods, that hung half-ajar from its hinges.

"That's odd," Connor said. " _Somebody_ had to build this gate."

"Which means that at least _some_ of the villagers know this place… and are, perhaps, aware of the existence of the creature," Ianto added grimly.

"That seems likely," Connor agreed, but his true attention was focused on the substance trickling down the rocky wall and making a puddle. "What the hell…?"

"What did you find?" Philip's voice came through their earpieces. "Connor, talk to me!"

"There's something strange down here, some kind of white sludge," Connor poked at the puddle with a twig. "It's thick, gelatinous and it's kind of metallic looking," he glanced up at the substance still trickling from the rock wall. "There's something else coming down from the surface as well."

"What is it?" Based on the rising of his voice, Philip's scientific curiosity was piqued.

Ianto fished a small device out of his backpack, took a sample from the substance and prayed that he could use the alien gizmo correctly. Usually Tosh was the one to deal with scientific stuff or, in her absence, Jack, since he was the one with the most experience. But with a bit of luck Ianto could get the job done, too… most of the time.

"Well, it's acid," he said after a moment, a bit surprised. The trickling made a hissing sound as it hit something on the ground and Connor jumped backward involuntarily.

"What the hell is _that_ doing down here?" he complained.

Ianto, trying to make sense of the readings with his little gizmo came up with, frowned. A nagging suspicion began forming in his head, but he needed more solid proof before he would voice it.

Philip, in the meantime, was clearly having a lightbulb moment.

"The sludge, it's bismuth," he declared excitedly. "Pass the energy from an anomaly through acid and what do you get?"

"Electrolysis!" Apparently the lightbulbs were going on in Connor's head as well. The kid might be a menace, but he was smart, too."

"Exactly!" Ianto could almost see with his mind's eye Philip gesturing in the manner of a university professor. "The longer the anomaly keeps trying to open…"

"The more bismuth it creates, the more the anomaly gets repelled," Connor finished for him.

"So that's what's making the anomaly unstable, some kind of acid?" Ianto asked doubtfully. "It sounds way too simple to me."

"Well, the scientific process is a bit more complicated than that, but… yeah, basically you're right," Philip answered after a moment of consideration.

"Great," Ianto said with no small amount of sarcasm. "And how does that help us?"

"It does not," Philip admitted. "You'll need to collect as much data about the anomaly as you can, though. It's vital for our further research."

"We'll do our best, sir," Ianto looked at Connor. "You do the geeky stuff; I'll scout around a bit."

"What for?"

"My scanner indicates another life sign nearby. It isn't human, but it isn't large enough to be the creature, either. We need to find out what it is if we don't want any nasty surprises. Any _more_ nasty surprises, that is."

There was a screech, coming from their right, proving Ianto's concern well-founded. Connor frowned.

"Something else must have come through the anomaly. We'll have a merry chase at our hands."

"I'll see _what_ it is," Ianto offered.

"Hurry up," Connor said. "The anomaly's getting weaker. I wonder how far Abby is with the creature."

"Call her and find out," Ianto suggested. "I'll see what else is here."

And with that, he disappeared in a side tunnel, following the signals with the help of his hand-held scanner.

* * *

When Jack finally caught up with Matt in the cemetery the latter was already fighting with a bearded young man who had a marked resemblance with the drawing Emily had left behind in Matt's flat. Therefore he had to be that Ethan person – and, according to Emily's warning, somebody mad, bad and dangerous to know.

The fact that he was attacking Matt with a shovel proved Emily's estimation of his character quite accurate. Fortunately, Matt turned out to be an experienced fighter and managed to repel the attack – for the moment anyway.

"Wait!" he said, breathing heavily. "Just tell me where she is."

"You're late," the young man – _Ethan_ – replied in a singsong voice. "May she rest in peace."

"Just tell me where she is," Matt insisted, "and we can help you get home."

Which was a bold promise, considering that the ARC team still had no idea how exactly the anomalies worked. Nor could they pretell where one would open and to which era. Not without reconstructing Professor Cutter's 4-dimensional model, with which they hadn't made any headway yet.

Ethan seemed accordingly unimpressed with Matt's promise.

"I _am_ home," he said, spreading his arms.

Jack frowned. That statement, combined with the fact that Ethan (if that was truly his name) was capable of driving a modern-day car, could only mean that the young man originated from the late twentieth or early twenty-first century.

Had he landed in the past by accident or with purpose was the next important question. Because if he went back willingly to manipulate the timeline, he was even more dangerous than previously assumed.

Matt clearly came to the same conclusion.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I'm the future," Ethan replied with a feral grin, madness glittering in his eyes. "I'm the past…"

He attacked Matt again, without warning. The two fought savagely; wildly enough to fall down into a deeper walkway that was framed by low stone walls. Matt landed on his back, breath knocked out of him, losing his black box. Ethan crouched down in front of him, giving him a look one would give an interesting insect under the microscope.

"You and your friends think you know all about the gateway," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "But you don't have a clue."

"Yeah?" Matt made no attempts to get up. "Well, what do you know?"

Ethan gave him a thin smile that made Jack's hackles rise. "With what I know… I can do _anything_."

"And what _are_ you gonna do?" Matt asked, unimpressed.

Ethan leaned closer, his voice low and full of quiet menace. "I'm gonna make them see what I've seen… and suffer like _I've_ suffered."

And with that, he ran up the nearest stone stairway and vanished from sight.

Jack stared after him in painful remembrance. It was Gray all over again. His long-lost younger brother, too, came back mentally unhinged and full of vengeance after having suffered terribly in the hands of the malevolent aliens that had destroyed the Boeshane Colony… well _would_ destroy it in the distant future.

The similarities made Jack realise that Ethan Dobrowsky most likely wasn't the agent of some hostile power, just the victim of some unspeakable horror that turned him mad.

Not that _that_ would make him any less dangerous. On the contrary.

For a moment Jack hesitated between following the young man and helping Matt. In the end, though, he decided to stay. Perhaps they could still find Emily in time. As Lester had said, there was no higher priority than human life, and they had one casualty already.

He jumped down to where Matt was trying to scramble to his feet and helped him up. Matt looked at him in surprise.

"What are you doing here?"

"Providing back-up," Jack replied matter-of-factly. "You seem to be in need of it."

"I was doing well enough," Matt muttered; then he looked around. "Where's Ethan?"

"Gone," Jack said, activating his headset. "Tosh? Target's getting away. Get back-up on the gates. Direct us to Emily's black box."

"I thought you'd use your wrist strap," Tosh's voice answered.

"I will if I have to," he said. "But localizing the black box might be faster, and I have the feeling that time is an issue here."

"Just a moment," Tosh replied. "Coordinates sent to your and Matt's black box. Good luck."

* * *

Ianto didn't need to go far to find the source of the screeches. Right in the first side cavern, which was situated a couple of feet deeper than the main tunnel, he discovered the miniaturized version of the Labyrinthodont. It was still the size of a large crocodile, though, its skin sizzling and blistering as the acid dropped down onto its back from the main tunnel.

Ianto shook his head in regret and touched his earpiece.

"Connor, there's a second creature down here. It's been affected by the acid and seems in a lot of pain."

There was no answer. Ianto frowned and tried again.

"Connor? Did you hear that? Connor?"

Still no answer. Ianto, definitely worried now, called the ARC.

"Jess, I can't raise Connor on his comms."

"That's odd," Jess replied. "I'm following his tracker signal. He hasn't moved at all in the last twenty minutes."

"I'd better go back and check on him then," Ianto said with a resigned sigh. "The smaller creature won't go anywhere for a while; it's practically trapped in the lower cave. And the anomaly's gone."

"The signal's still there, though it's faint," Philip said. "You just can't see it. But where's the acid coming from?"

Ianto has already asked that question from himself and worked out a possible answer in his head.

"It must be from the farm," he guessed. "That woman, Mrs Lennon, and her son have been dumping it down here."

"But why?" Philip's question revealed the ignorance of somebody who never needed to use semi-legal methods, just to make ends meet.

Ianto smiled grimly. Wealthy people really didn't have a clue what the rest of mankind had to live with.

"I guess they're stripping the dye from cheap farm diesel and selling it off as commercial fuel," he explained.

"What for?" Philip still wasn't getting it.

"Because they need the money," Ianto explained with forced patience. The lands here are not very fertile; these people are _poor_."

"But that's illegal, not to mention destructive for the environment!" Philip exclaimed.

"People at the end of their means don't care about the so-called big picture," Ianto replied grimly. "They do what they have to do to survive. It may not be right, but they often have no other choice."

"But if they're ruthless enough to dump acid into the natural waters, they wouldn't want witnesses," Philip said, clearly worried. "Connor might be in danger."

"He is; and not only from the creature," Ianto agreed. "I'm going to look for him now."

"Just be careful," Philip warned. "These people won't spare you, either."

"Probably not," Ianto allowed. "But they're not the only ruthless people in Wales."

He found it prudent _not_ to reveal the existence and the usefulness of the perception filter he was carrying in his pocket to someone like Philip Burton. But he definitely intended to put it to good use.

* * *

His precaution paid off when he came upon a barely conscious Connor, held at gunpoint by Ray Lennon who seemed rather panicky for someone who actually _had_ a shotgun aimed at a helpless geek.

"Mam, we have to get out of here, he pleaded with his mother who stood there impatiently, holding some more canisters. "Leave him for the Worm."

She gave him an exasperated look. "You and your stupid Worm! Can't you be serious for a minute? It's a good story, but it's getting old."

"Mam, when are you going to believe me?" Ray returned, every bit as exasperated. "There's two of them. This is where they live. And what do you think the gate's for? I built it to stop them getting out."

That certainly answered _one_ of the questions concerning the gate; although Ray couldn't have done a very good job of it, seeing that the mother creature _did_ get out, after all, and ate the blogger kid on the headland – and the fisherman at the river nearly too.

Moira Lennon, however, was still not persuaded.

"I always knew you were a half-wit," she told her son in dismay.

Forgetting about Connor for a moment, Ray dragged his mother to a place from where they could look down at the smaller creature in the lower cave. "Look."

"Oh, my God!" Now Mrs Lennon was suitably shocked, making Ianto understand that she truly hadn't now about the creature until this very moment.

"It's all right," Ray said. "That one won't harm you. We need to get out of here before the big one gets back."

Connor, who didn't understand a word as they were speaking Welsh, looked from mother to son and back in bewilderment. Once or twice his hand twitched in the direction of his earpiece, but Ray was still holding the shotgun vaguely at him, so he didn't dare to actually use it.

"I thought you were making it up," Moira Lennon muttered, still in shock; then, as the smaller creature was screeching again, she frowned. "Is it sick or something?"

"That creature's dying," Ianto said, also in Welsh, switching off the perception filter. "It's from all the acid that you two have been dumping down here."

Mother and son stared at him in surprise.

"You… you were in the inn before," Ray said.

Ianto nodded. "I was sent to learn what we could about your so-called Worm. Your mam might no have believed him," he gestured at Connor, "but we're really here to get rid of it."

"You're Special Ops or something?" Ray asked doubtfully.

"Or something," Ianto said evasively. In Cardiff he'd simply have said _Torchwood_ , but he doubted that people in the deepest countryside would have heard of the worst-kept secret in the entire Wales. "You were right, though. You need to get out of here; your ridiculous shotgun would only serve to make the mother creature even more pissed off; and it _will_ already be enraged because of its little one suffering."

Moira Lennon looked at her son in suspicion. "You say you built the gate to keep 'em in. How did the big one get out anyway?"

"He opened the gate!" Ianto said in a sudden moment of realization. "He let that kid on the headland get eaten! He basically murdered him."

"I did what I had to," Ray answered stubbornly.

His mother stared at him in horror, proving that while she might be ruthless where the environment was concerned, she was still a more or less decent woman. "Oh, my God."

"Mam, I… I did it for you!" Roy pleaded. "That kid… he was snooping around because of the Worm… I couldn't let him find us out; and neither can I let _them_!"

He aimed the shotgun at Connor again, who still didn't have a clue what they were talking about. Ianto calculated the distance between them, wondering if he could knock the young man out before he'd shoot Connor; it was by no means sure.

Fortunately for him – _and_ Connor – at the same moment an angry growl signalled the return of the creature. If _that_ could be considered as a fortunate turn of events, that is.

Mrs Lennon used her son's momentary distraction to toss the shotgun to the side. In the next moment, though, she was swept off her feet by the swishing tail of the Labyrinthodont and hurled against the rocky wall of the cave, slumping to the ground with a broken skull.

At least she was spared the sight of her son being dragged away by the creature.

Ianto muttered something vile in Welsh as the standard issue ARC stunner proved useless against the thing; then he called Jess.

"Jess, can you hear me?"

"I hear you clearly," Jess replied. "Are you and Connor okay?"

"We're fine for now," Ianto said, "but there've already been three casualties, so we should put an end to this mission as soon as possible. "Where's Abby and the cavalry?"

"They should be with you any moment," Jess replied. "Are you and Connor okay?"

"I hope they will, cause these ARC-issue stunners are crap," Ianto growled darkly.

Connor looked around and spotted an iron bar on the ground, presumably some remain from Ray Lennon's gate-building activity. "What about this?"

Ianto raised a sceptical eyebrow. "If you want to scratch the creature behind the ears…"

"Well, if you've got a better idea," Connor returned, a little indignantly.

Ianto made an unhappy face. "Unfortunately, I don't. Is there another iron bar like yours?"

Connor searched their immediate surrounding; then he shook his head. "Afraid not."

"Wonderful," Ianto picked up the full canister of diesel the late Moira Lennon had dropped. "Let's hope the mother creature is as sensitive towards environmental pollution as its baby, or else we won't last long enough for the cavalry to arrive."

* * *

In the meantime Matt and Jack were still looking for Emily in the cemetery. There were effigies all around: a beautiful Celtic cross (not unlike the one in front of Torchwood House, Jack found), a statue of a weeping angel (which made him understandably nervous, considering what he knew about such creatures) and so on, but no sign of the missing woman.

Matt was getting desperate. "Where the hell _is_ she?"

"The black box must be just ahead of you," Tosh told them via earpiece.

The two men exchanged helpless shrugs.

"Let's give that stairway right ahead a try," Jack suggested. "Perhaps it takes us to her."

They hurried down the stone steps that led to a large, elaborate family crypt. Tosh could still read the black box signal for them, but their way was blocked by the heavy iron doors.

"Well, let's take a look," Matt said. "She's got to be down here somewhere. Perhaps inside the crypt."

"Perhaps," Jack allowed. "But why this particular crypt? He dragged her across half the cemetery to get here – why?"

Matt shrugged and eyed the crypt with a frown; then his eyes widened in surprise as he spotted the name of the family above the doors: CAMERON.

"Charlotte!" he exclaimed as realization hit.

"Charlotte?" Jack repeated, not getting the hint. "Who's Charlotte?"

"The dead woman at the theatre, Emily's friend," Tosh answered in Matt's stead who was already tugging on the doors. "Her name was Charlotte Cameron; and this Ethan person was apparently very attached to her. Emily mentioned that Charlotte was the only one who could keep him under some sort of control."

"Do you think he put Emily into the crypt here?" Matt asked, still wrestling with the doors.

"He wouldn't be the first madman who's done that," Jack said grimly, the memories of his two-thousand-year entombment and the countless deaths by suffocation that came with it still vivid in his nightmares.

"Which is why you should hurry up," Tosh said. The unspoken message that Emily wouldn't bounce back from death was crystal clear, at least to Jack.

"The black box won't be of much use now," he said. "The signal is weak and diffuse. I'll use my wrist strap to scan for her temporal signature. That's our best chance now."

As another Time Agent – albeit one from a much earlier time – Matt understood the idea, and so they forced the doors of the crypt open. In the first chamber they found a hue stone sarcophagus, with the Cameron family crest on its massive lid.

"The black box signal comes from here," Matt tried to move the lid to the side, but it was too heavy for him alone. "Help me! She won't have enough air to breathe much longer!"

With united strength, they managed to push the lid to the side, but all they found was the black box, placed on a dusty, smelly cushion.

"Right," Jack said sarcastically. "It would have been too easy," he activated the search function of his wrist strap, studied the readings for a moment and nodded to their left. "Let's try that direction."

They tracked the temporal signature to another chamber, deeper within the crypt, and in another sarcophagus they found Emily indeed, bound and gagged, clearly meant to die alone, slowly and in despair. Uncharacteristically for her, she was a little hysterical, on the border of a shock and started sobbing as soon as they freed her from her bonds – but again, given the circumstances who would blame her for that?

"Hey, hey, hey!" Matt tried to soothe her while helping her out of the coffin, after which she practically fell into his arms. "You're okay, you're okay…"

Emily finally got herself under control and gave him a tremulous smile. "You came looking for me…"

Matt opened and closed his mouth several time, trying to find a coherent answer – and failed.

"Yeah," he finally elaborated, and the two hugged again.

Jack watched them with a tolerant smile.

" _Complicated_ , my arse," he murmured. "Hopelessly besotted would be more accurate. But you have to work on your romantic side, Matt my good man."

* * *

Meanwhile Connor and Ianto were playing hide and seek with the Labyrinthodont (the adult one), using makeshift weapons. Meaning whatever they could find lying around and throw at the creature… with little to no effect.

It was when Ianto hit the head of it with the canister full of diesel and the vessel burst open that the anomaly suddenly reappeared.

"Well, I'll be damned," Ianto said in surprise. "How on Earth did _that_ happen?"

"Of course!" Connor exclaimed, after a moment of furious thinking. "The diesel's diluting the acid, that's why the anomaly is reopening!"

"Yeah, but for how long?" Ianto asked. "We need to keep it open until Abby arrives with the cavalry, so that they can herd both creatures through it."

Connor looked around and picked up another full canister, left behind by the ill-fated Lennons.

"We should pour more diesel into the puddle," he said, "and hope that they actually _want_ to go home."

"If not, we'll persuade them," the voice of Abby said behind them.

She came in, brandishing a fully charged EMD rifle, followed by P'N'go and his team of hunters who were carrying their sturdy spears; spears they once had used to kill mammoths with, so they were certainly more effective than they looked.

"And how are you planning to do that?" Ianto asked sceptically.

"By playing the bait," Abby jumped in front of the anomaly, screaming and flailing with her arms. It didn't take long for the Labyrinthodont to spot her and move in for the kill, the baby creature hot on its heels.

The adult Labyrinthodont moved with impressive speed for a beast of its size, and for a moment they all feared that Abby wouldn't be able to get out of its way in time. But in the last moment P'N'go dashed across the cave, yanked her to the side and rolled away with her expertly. The creature and its baby were carried through the anomaly by their own momentum, back to their own time… hopefully.

"Connor, now!" Abby yelled.

Connor built up the device that closed the anomaly in record time, and the thing was soon nothing more than a glittering ball. It wouldn't have drawn any attention in a disco, in fact.

"Well," P'N'go said, clambering back to his feet, "that was more eventful than I imagined. No wonder Abby's bored out of her head by us."

The half dozen Neanderthal hunters sagely nodded in agreement.


	12. Chapter 12

**TIMESCAPES**

 **by Soledad**

 **Author's notes:** This is the last of episode 4.05 – with some mighty twists.

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

Having wrapped up the case in Wychfield – an action that included a mild dosage of Retcon being added to the drink of a few people who might have seen anything they weren't supposed to see – Matt, Connor and Emily returned to London separately. Matt delivered Emily to Abby and Connor's shared flat, as his own was no longer considered safe enough before leaving to visit Gideon. Connor made sure Emily was comfortable and as safe as it was possible with Ethan still abroad, and then went back to the ARC.

Jack and Ianto didn't go back to London; not yet. Ianto drove Abby back to the _Prehistoric Park_ , followed by the Neanderthals in P'N'go's van, while Jack, driving the standard ARC car, met them halfways. It was an impressive treck, Ianto commented dryly, even if the onlookers couldn't know _who_ exactly was sitting in the respective vehicles.

On the other hand, all possible onlookers were Welsh anyway, and the Welsh weren't easily shocked.

The Tribe welcomed them with great enthusiasm as it was the returning hunters' due; the fact that they weren't coming from an actual hunt and didn't bring any prey with them mattered little. It was one of the few traditions they could keep from their former life, and the Tribe was big at traditions.

Jack and Ianto were spontaneously invited to the usual welcoming feast held in the communal eating rooms; not that _that_ would have been anything fancier than the regular common supper. Spirits were high, though, and after supper they were treated to a re-enacting of the fight with the Labyrinthodont – another tradition that not only served as entertainment but was also educational for the young ones, should they ever have to fight a beast of such size in the future. This was how they had always taught their children the necessary survival skills and the different circumstances didn't change the time-honoured methods.

At the end of the performance the hunters equivocally declared Abby a true huntress; one that was worthy of going on the hunt with them any time.

"It is unusual to accept a female among the hunters," Dr N'go explained to Jack and Ianto, "but she had more than proved herself: by surviving in a time way before even our own; by her skills and knowledge when dealing with the animals in the _Park_ ; and especially during this last hunt. She would make a worthy mate for any of us."

Hearing that Ianto nearly choked on his beer, which would have been a crying shame as the Tribe made their very own, excellent brew no-one would want to waste.

Jack gave Dr N'go an amused look. "Are you grooming her for your son? I'm afraid you'll have a long uphill struggle before you. She's set her eyes firmly on Connor."

"She might believe that _now_ ," Dr N'go replied with a dismissive shrug. "She's still rebelling against the fact that she was sent to us against her will. But even during the short time she's spent with us she's been coping well. She'll fit in beautifully. She just needs to realize it."

Jack nodded thoughtfully. He, too, agreed that Abby and Connor weren't a good match, despite the year they spent alone in the Cretaceous. The _Prehistoric Park_ could provide all the purpose and stable environment Abby would need to thrive, although she might know now that – not yet. She was highly valued here, much more so than at the ARC, and she could learn here what it _truly_ meant to work as part of the team – something that would come in handy, even if she decided to return to the ARC after six months.

Whether she would accept P'N'go as a life-mate was another question entirely.

* * *

Connor was in a particularly foul mood upon returning to the ARC. The mission hadn't turned out according to his expectations. He hadn't got to be the hero of the day, he hadn't solved the mystery of the vanishing and reappearing anomaly – _that_ had been Philip – and his eagerly-looked-forward-to reunion with Abby had been practically nonexistent.

Abby had been too busy playing dinosaur hunter with her new buddies from wherever she was currently reassigned to even waste a look at _him_. And when she _had_ noticed his existence at all, she'd been griping about Philip. As if the whole disaster hadn't been _her_ fault, for not keeping that stupid lizard of hers contained.

Oh, Connor liked Rex as much as anyone else. The little creature _was_ their mascot, after all. But that didn't change the fact that without Toshiko's ingenuity Philip Burton, the greatest mind of the twenty-first century, would be dead by now. Just because Rex had been let out of the carrier in which he'd been supposed to be in Abby's absence.

And because of this, Philip now felt obliged to give Toshiko the permanent job he might have offered him, Connor, otherwise.

Oh, there could be no doubt that she _was_ a computer genius. Connor had made sure to check her credentials which, despite the fact that a great many of her files were inaccessible (even for somebody with Connor's computer skills) were depressingly excellent.

Hello, having been hired for a government think tank at the age of twenty, right out of university? Working for the Ministry of Defence, right after graduation? Not many people could say that about themselves.

In fact, the only other person with similar credentials Connor had ever known was Philip Burton.

It was odd that Toshiko would simply vanish from the world of science and end up working for some shady government organization in Cardiff, of all places, instead of making a stellar academic career. Because honestly, _Cardiff_? And not even at the local university, insignificant though it might be?

There had to be some ugly secret in Toshiko's past. A secret Philip knew about, though, if the hints he had made were any indication. And yet he was more than willing to give her a job at _Prospero_. He was even willing to wait until she became available – and that was exactly the time frame in which Connor had the chance to carve himself a niche at _Prospero_. To prove his worth to Philip and probably get a permanent job as a result.

Because Philip had been right. The creatures, interesting though they might be, were just a distraction. The big mystery, the real challenge were the anomalies themselves, and Connor felt obliged to pick up Professor Cutter's abandoned work with them.

Every idiot with a weapon could hunt dinosaurs. Solving the mystery of the anomalies, though, required a proper genius; and the one closest to the problem could be the one to solve it. Toshiko wouldn't be able to work for Philip's anomaly research right now. If he, Connor, accepted the job, he might solve the mystery before she could take over.

Of course he couldn't just abandon the team entirely. With Abby reassigned, they needed at least _one_ team member who actually _knew_ what they were doing. Becker didn't count; he was just muscle. And all the others were either newbies or strangers.

But perhaps Philip would be willing to make a compromise.

* * *

In his main office at Whitehall Mycroft Holmes was ready to call it a day – and a long, tedious day it had been – when his PA came in without being summoned.

"Matt Anderson is visiting his contact again," she said, not bothering with a preamble. There was no reason. They both know she wouldn't have come were it not important.

Mycroft Holmes didn't have the time to keep a constant eye on the ARC team. He had James Lester for _that_. However, he had a vexed interest in what Matt Anderson was doing _outside_ the ARC; especially since he had learned from Captain Harkness that the man was a Time Agent of some sort.

Of particular interest of him was the old man, known only under the name of Gideon, whom Anderson regularly visited. The dying old man without a traceable past who had clearly forged Anderson's CIV and who had an unusually firm hold on the new ARC team leader.

Anthea had a number of security cameras installed around (and inside) the old man's home and assigned one of her co-workers to maintain a Level Three surveillance on the house around the clock. Especially the meetings between Anderson and the old man, however short they might be at any given time, were monitored _very_ closely.

"Let's see what hey have to say to each other this time," Mycroft Holmes said resignedly and called up the live feed to his laptop.

He didn't really hope to learn anything new; those two had brought obscurity to a whole new level. But one could never know. This might be the day when they would slip… even more so as the old man seemed very angry for some reason.

"How could you have let him escape?" he demanded.

Oh. This was about Ethan Dobrowski, then, and the fact that they hadn't managed to capture him.

"Emily would have died if I hadn't," Anderson replied, his tone not the least defensive.

Mr Holmes pulled a face. He found that argument a weak one, as it was based on the most unreliable of human characteristics: sentiment.

Gideon clearly agreed with him because he continued ranting at Anderson.

"You put one life above billions of others. Haven't I taught you anything?"

"I don't believe you would have done any different," Anderson countered, obviously every bit as stubborn as the old man. "We don't even know for certain that Ethan's to blame for what happened."

"He certainly isn't," Mr Holmes muttered. "Unless he was in league with either Christine Johnson or Philip Burton – and if he were, we would know it."

Those two had been closely monitored for years, after all.

Gideon, however, seemed to have other theories and willing to defend them at all costs.

"Why else has he appeared right now?" he insisted. "Matthew, this is it. I feel it. I _know_ it. And so do you. This has never been about fighting an army. This isn't about money or power or force. Look at the destruction Helen Cutter almost wreaked upon humanity. What did she have? Hmm? Knowledge. That's all that's needed, one person with enough knowledge to bring down the whole world."

"Pretty fanatic, isn't he?" Anthea commented. "Could he be right, though?"

"He is beyond doubt right about Helen Cutter," Mr Holmes replied thoughtfully. "However, I seriously doubt that he would be right about this Ethan person. _One_ determined madman – or madwoman, as it was the case – could apparently travel back in time to the cradle of mankind to prevent our species from rising above its environment. But one person cannot cause environmental destruction on the scale Mr Anderson described it to Captain Harkness. Not without a great deal of power, money and influence."

"Which means we're back to Philip Burton," Anthea said.

Mr Holmes nodded. "Indeed we are, my dear. Which doesn't mean that we could afford to leave this Ethan character move around freely. We need to know anything there is to know about him."

"Miss Sato's working on it, sir."

"That's good enough, then," Mr Holmes turned his attention back to the live feed where Anderson was promising the old man that he would find Ethan.

"Do whatever it takes, even if it means sacrificing this Emily," Gideon insisted. "If he discovers she's still alive, he'll come for her again. You can use that against him."

"Man, that's cold," Anthea commented.

Mr Holmes shrugged. "The real problem is that he's _wrong_. And while Anderson focuses on the wrong person, he might fail to stop Philip Burton in time."

"You want me to use her as bait?" For the first time ever, there was something akin to emotion on Anderson's impassive face.

The old man gave him a look full of disdain through those gold-rimmed glasses. "Matthew, harden your heart. Do your job. Nothing else matters."

He walked away towards the house, leaving a somewhat shocked Anderson behind.

"I'd be impressed by his determination, had he not so obviously picked the wrong target," Mr Holmes said thoughtfully. "That's the problem with amateurs: they never see the big picture."

"Or what's right under their nose," Anthea added.

"You mean Mr Anderson's apparent interest in Lady Emily Merchant?" Mr Holmes asked. "Assuming that she is who she claims to be, of course."

"Oh, I believe he's well and truly beyond the phase of mere _interest_ ," Anthea replied. "And that might prove dangerous indeed. He appears to me like somebody who never had such… _interests_ before and most likely doesn't know how to deal with the emotions involved."

"Perhaps," Mr Holmes said slowly, "we should ask Miss Sato to run a background check on Lady Emily Merchant as well."

* * *

Connor considered himself lucky to catch Philip alone, instead chatting up Toshiko as usual. Even though they usually talked about highly scientific stuff, it was almost a mating dance between them – with Philip making all the effort and Toshiko playing hard to get.

At least that was how it looked to Connor; and he really couldn't understand what Philip saw in her. Granted, she _was_ a certified genius, but she didn't have either Emily's elegant, very feminine beauty or Abby's spunk. And yet Philip was completely bonkers about her.

Today, though, she was up to her eye-teeth with research – whether for Lester of for Captain Harkness, it was impossible to tell – and so Connor could hand Philip his report about the Wychfield case undisturbed.

"Philip skimmed over the report; then he pocketed the data stick with the smugly satisfied expression of the cat that just got the canary.

"Excellent. That's exactly what we needed; the most successful mission since I took over the project."

"Three people died," Connor reminded him, walking with him towards the ADC hub.

He decided _not_ to point out that Philip hadn't taken over the project yet. Nor would he ever, if it were up to Lester. Or Matt. Not to mention Abby."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, and I deeply regret it," Philip said with fairly convincing remorse; then his eyes started sparkling again. "But Connor, the data you recovered today is invaluable, data that might help us solve the riddle of the anomalies, and if we can do that, _countless_ lives could be saved."

Connor nodded absent-mindedly. This was his chance to jump onto the bandwagon; if only he could find the right words.

"Philip," he called after the man who was already halfway down the corridor. "About the job offer."

Philip turned back expectantly. "Yes?"

Connor swallowed nervously. "I am unbelievably flattered. I'd like nothing better than accept. It's just… I don't think Lester would let me go, now that Abby is no longer here. I'm the only one left from the original team; the only one with actual knowledge about dinosaurs. They _need_ me, even if they don't realize it."

"I see," Philip was clearly disappointed. "Well, you're making a big mistake."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Connor sighed. "What about a compromise, though? I'll work on your project, _unless_ I'm needed in the field."

Philip frowned. "Connor, it's not a hobby. You can't become a serious scientist just in your spare time. You're either a researcher or a dinosaur hunter."

"I can do both. I know it," Connor insisted desperately. "I… I really want this."

Philip gave him a pointed look. "Well I guess we can have a lab set up over here. But Connor, working for _Prospero_ is strictly confidential. And by that, I mean you don't tell _anybody_."

Connor nodded eagerly. "Yeah."

He was beyond ecstatic. He couldn't believe that this actually _might_ work. Him, getting a job from Philip Burton, of all people!

"Not even Abby," Philip emphasized, knowing all too well where Connor's fatal weakness lay.

"Oh, don't worry," Connor said, a little bitterly. "She's not really interested in this side of things anyway, so that… I'll be fine."

Philip smiled smugly and held out his hand, a gold ring gleaming on his pinkie finger. "Welcome aboard."

Connor grabbed the proffered hand with both of his own and shook it before Philip could change his mind.

* * *

"He had made his choice then," Jack said thoughtfully.

He, Tosh and Ianto were back to the Torchwood One safe house, watching the daily security feed from the ARC.

"I thought he might," Ianto replied. "He feels unappreciated and misunderstood; and he's desperately jealous of Tosh."

"Jealous?" Tosh echoed in surprise. "I thought he was straight… and totally besotted with Abby."

"Jealous of the fact that Philip actually wants _you_ to work for _Prospero_ ," Ianto explained. "He's smart enough to realize he's merely a gap-filler until your indenture to Torchwood runs out."

"But he accepted…" Tosh began uncertainly.

"Of course he did, this is the only job he could get at _Prospero_ , at least for now," Jack said. "He probably hopes that if he proves himself useful, Philip will make the offer permanent. Who knows, he might even be right."

"He _is_ gifted," Tosh allowed. "All he needs is firm guidance… and a little discipline. Philip could give him that; as far as I can see, he runs a tight ship. Connor would profit from working closely with other, more organized scientists a lot."

"Yeah, and he'd sell his soul for the chance," Ianto muttered; then he looked at Jack. "I don't like the secrecy; there's more behind it than just the fear of industrial espionage."

Jack nodded. "That's what Mr Holmes thinks, too. Which is why we're here in the first place."

"Do we tell anyone about Connor?" Tosh asked.

Jack thought about it for a moment. "I'll tell Mr Holmes," he then decided. "He can choose to tell Lester… or not."

"And what about Matt?"

"I'd let him in the dark for the time being," Ianto said. "Just because he's also a Time Agent – well, in a sense – it doesn't mean he's fully trustworthy. He doesn't tell us everything, either. The identity of the old man he regularly visits, for one."

"Philip won't like it either when he learns that Matt's kept Emily with him – without his knowledge," Tosh added.

"Speaking of which, where is the lady now?" Jack asked. "Matt can hardly keep her in his flat; she's already been taken from there once."

"At the moment she stays in Abby's flat," Tosh said. "But that isn't safe, either."

"Especially considering that she has to share the flat with Connor," Ianto commented; "who is not only the biggest trouble magnet of the planet but also has just crept into Philip's pocket willingly."

"We could put her up here," Tosh suggested. "We have enough living space; and Ethan would have a much harder time to get to her."

"True," Jack allowed. "But why should we do it?"

"Because she needs help," Tosh replied sharply. "She's not any different from all those people the Rift used to drop into our lap."

"Save for the fact that she could return to her own time whenever she wants; assuming they find the right anomaly for her," Ianto pointed out.

"And if she doesn't _want_ to return?" Tosh asked. "She must have had a reason to join that odd group of time travellers. It's not our right to push her through the next best anomaly, just because her presence here causes problems, and Lester won't be able to protect her against this Ethan character. _We_ can."

Jack looked at Ianto, who shrugged indifferently, not caring one way or the other. Tosh, on the other hand, kept glaring at Jack accusingly, until the fearless Torchwood leader gave in. When it came to righteous indignation Tosh could beat Gwen with one hand bound to her back.

"All right," he sighed, reaching for his mobile phone. "Let me talk to Matt."

* * *

Within the hour Matt and Emily arrived at the safe house, relieved to have fond a place for her to stay. Tosh and Emily got on like a house on fire right from the beginning, and while made for the men – including himself – some industrial strength coffee, the ladies had tea and chatted about Emily's time travelling adventures.

Jack listened to them with interest; obviously, Emily had lived in prehistoric time periods he had never visited himself. But his main interest was for the storyteller, not for the stories themselves.

"Lady Emily Merchant," he said thoughtfully. "Are you, by accident, related to Lord Henry Merchant?"

Emily gave him a surprised… no, rather shocked look.

"Not related, no," she said. "But he was – well, in a manner he still _is_ – my husband. Why?"

Jack, however, gave her no straight answer. "Just curious."

Emily wasn't buying it. "How could you _possibly_ know about Henry?"

"Oh, I've been about for a while," he replied nonchalantly. "Time travel, you know?"

And while this still wasn't a real answer, Emily had to accept it, as he clearly wasn't willing to reveal anything else.

* * *

Soon thereafter Matt left and Emily, too, retreated to the guest room offered to her, stating that she was fatigued from the recent events.

"Small wonder," Ianto commented. "Even for somebody with her stamina and ample experience, being kidnapped by knifepoint and left to die in a coffin had to be draining."

Tosh, however, had other things on her mind.

"Jack did you really know Emily's husband?" she asked.

Jack shook his head. "Not personally. But he was known to be a rather unpleasant fellow. Very concerned about his reputation. Which is why he put his wife into Bedlam."

"Bedlam?" Tosh echoed, frowning.

"Insane asylum," Ianto supplied. "The nineteenth-century version of _Providence Park_ – just a lot less comfortable."

Tosh stared at Jack in shock. "And you'd send her back to _that_?"

Jack shrugged, his features hardening.

"I've sent Tommy back to his execution, haven't I? She doesn't belong to this time."

"Neither do you; or Matt, for that matter," Tosh returned sharply. "But I seriously doubt that it would change history if Emily vanished without a trace instead of dying in a madhouse."

"We can't know that," Jack said stubbornly. "At least she does have a chance to go back, unlike other time-displaced people. And she _does_ intend to go back, as soon as Ethan is neutralized."

"Yes, because she doesn't know the outcome!"

"Neither of us does, Tosh; not for ourselves in any case," Jack said tiredly. "But we have no right to play God. For us, it's all happened in the past, more than a century ago. It's history. _Her_ history."

"And _my_ history would have been to rot in that godforsaken UNIT prison for the rest of my life," Tosh's eyes blazed with anger. "Yet you didn't hesitate to interfere on my behalf."

"That was different," Jack began, but Tosh interrupted him.

"Why? Because I could be useful for Torchwood?"

Jack's eyes turned to blue ice. "Yes, exactly. You should have realized by now that Torchwood is not a charity organization. Emily is not our responsibility."

"You said the same to me when I begged for a job," Ianto commented dryly. "It took a pterodactyl to change your mind."

"And you thanked me by hiding a Cyberman in my basement," Jack riposted.

Ianto shook his head in bitter amusement.

"You're thinking backwards, Jack. She was the only reason I wanted to work for you. Originally, that is," he added with a faint smile.

"I think we shouldn't bring up the mistakes of the past," Tosh said hurriedly; she recognized the hurt-little-boy-look on Jack's face, even though few other people would have. "Neither of us is without fault but we've learned to live with each other's imperfections… or so I hope. But Emily…"

"Is. Not. Our. Concern," Jack repeated. "You'll _not_ tell her what's waiting for her at home, understood?"

"I… yes," Tosh replied unhappily.

Jack glared at Ianto. "And neither will you."

"Of course not," Ianto said agreeably and began to clean the coffee machine.

"Good," Jack stood and shrugged on his coat. "I need some air. Don't wait for me. See that our guest remains put and safe."

"Will do," Ianto replied. "This is a safe house, after all."

Jack gave him a dark look and left without a further word.

Tosh waited for him to get out of earshot before turning to Ianto.

"You are lucky he was hurt by what you said, or else he'd have noticed how easily you gave in. Too easily."

"I didn't want to hurt him," Ianto sighed. "But he can be such a hypocrite sometimes – for somebody who supposedly comes from a much more enlightened time."

"But what are we going to do?" Tosh asked. "Jack expressly forbade us to talk to Emily; and as much as I feel sorry for her, I wouldn't dare to go against a direct order."

"Neither would I," Ianto agreed. "But he didn't say anything about speaking to _Matt_ , did he?"

Tosh looked at him with unabashed admiration.

"Ianto Jones," she declared, "You are astonishingly sneaky!"

"I try to do my best," Ianto replied with his blandest receptionist smile.

* * *

Standing on the next best rooftop, so close to the edge than anyone with less than steely nerves would panic by the mere sight of him, Jack Harkness glared down morosely at the night lights of London. The confrontation with Tosh and Ianto had pissed him off royally.

Why did they have to be so unreasonable? It was bad enough that Gwen always argued with him about things of no importance; or those he couldn't change. Why had Tosh and Ianto to start with that, too?

It wasn't so that he wouldn't feel sorry for Emily; on the contrary. He had been outraged, back in the 19th century, when he learned that Sir Henry Merchant had forcibly removed his inconvenient (read: independent and strong-willed) wife to an insane asylum. But there hadn't been a thing he could have done about it then – and neither was now.

He had been sent to London by Miss Holroyd, then leader of Torchwood Three, to deal with the brutal serial killer nicknamed Spring-heeled Jack. It had been believed to be a murderous alien, so it would have been within Torchwood's jurisdiction. In the end, it turned out to be a time-displaced dinosaur instead – a velociraptor, in fact – and it cost Jack two deaths to finally eliminate it.

Rumour had said that Lady Merchant had some sort of connection to Spring-heeled Jack; that she might have been his partner of crime. It was nonsense, of course; but Jack couldn't really explain that to the people of Victorian London.

Others had assumed that the resolute Lady Merchant had actually been hunting the killer.

 _She's always been peculiar_ , people had said. _Small wonder; she isn't really born to the title. Sir Henry married her for her father's money; who know what she was up to before her marriage?_

Perhaps Tosh was right. Perhaps Emily _did_ have good reason to flee through the anomaly, and sending her back to the suffocating boredom of an arranged marriage _would_ be cruel. Especially knowing how that marriage would end for her.

But she was _not_ his responsibility, no matter how Tosh – and, apparently, Ianto as well – was thinking.

Jack had to admit that Ianto's comments had hurt. They really needed to talk about their issues, no matter how good both of them were at obfuscating. They couldn't go on letting things festering between them. Life – _Ianto's life_ – was too short for that.

Addressing the problem could wait just a little longer, though. Right now, Jack needed to stand at the edge of the world for a while, as close to the distant starts as possible. There were times when he still missed travelling among them fiercely; and he guessed that _that_ would never change.

~TBC~


	13. Chapter 13

**TIMESCAPES**

 **by Soledad**

 **Author's notes:** Chapter 13 deals with events from the _Primeval_ episode 4.06 – only very, _very_ differently, as you'll see. Dyffryn House is a really existing place; its exterior was used as the hotel in which Gwen and Rhys's wedding took place in the _Torchwood_ episode "Something Borrowed" – which is by no means a coincidence. *g*

 **Warning:** Dark!Ianto in this one!

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen**

Mrs. Mary Cooper – supremely elegant as always in her black-and-white patterned skirt suit and light purple silk blouse – was walking through the Hall of Dyffryn House, one of the last large country manors to be built in Wales, with an unhappy frown. The Hall itself was _not_ the cause of her unhappiness, though. It was a lofty room, whose windows, looking out over the driveway, featured the most notable of the manor's impressive chimneypieces, incorporating at its centre a seventeenth-century marble cartouche of arms, flanked by life-sized wooden Mannerists figures of Ceres and Prudence.

Yes, the Hall was, as well as the long, narrow mansion, built in a style reminiscent of the Second French Empire, very well-suited for celebrating her beloved daughter's first wedding anniversary. What she had a serious problem with was the service.

"Well," she said, eyeing the flower bouquets doubtfully, "I've got six here. You know, Geraint, I just feel it's going to have to be much fuller. Perhaps some lilies?"

Her husband, as laid-back as she was high-strung, made himself comfortable on a settee.

"I believe that sometimes less is more," he said with a carefully neutral expression.

She gave him a quelling glare.

"Really, Geraint, our baby deserves a perfect anniversary after that disastrous wedding of hers, doesn't she?"

Geraint Cooper shook his head but knew better than to argue with his wife when she was in a mood like this. Even if he found her overzealous preparations for Gwennie's anniversary a bit overdone. His dear Mary – just like their daughter – was a force of nature… sometimes a destructive one, too.

Fortunately for him, Mary's attention was turned away by a young man with a marked resemblance to a younger Prince William, carrying a guitar case. She slammed her notebook down onto a coffee table in annoyance.

"The band are not booked until tomorrow, darling. I'm sorry to say, but you're just going to get in the way here today."

The young man grinned. "That's exactly what Gwennie said. Rhys insisted that I come today, though."

Mrs Cooper gawked at him. "I'm sorry?"

"That's Banana Boat, Mary," her husband said patiently. "She was Rhys's best man, remember?"

"Not really," she admitted. "I still don't understand how we all could get so horribly drunk that we practically forgot the entire wedding."

"It happens when spirits are high and the champagne aplenty," Mr. Cooper said philosophically. "That's why we're having this anniversary party, isn't it?"

"And _this_ time I'll keep an eye on the drinks," she promised darkly; then she snatched the bottle from the hand of an unsuspecting waiter who was heading with it to the buffet table. "That's not what I ordered!"

She checked the label and shook her head in exasperation.

"You want something done here, Geraint, you have to do it yourself," she announced, clearly affronted, and hurried away in the direction of the wine cellar, her high heels clicking on the hard floor, underscoring her complaints. "Just cannot get the staff. Unbelievable!"

Geraint Cooper shook his head in tolerant amusement.

"Don't mind her ranting," he said to the seriously baffled Banana Boat. "She's always like this when she's put her mind to something she thinks is important."

"Yeah," the younger man replied dazedly. "I can see where Gwennie has it. I just don't know how Rhys can deal with it… or you, sir, for that matter. No offence intended."

"None taken," Gwen's father assured him with a faint smile. "As for how to deal with them… it takes a lot of practice and a great deal of patience."

* * *

In his private office at the _Diogenes Club_ Mycroft Holmes was having a tactical meeting with James Lester. The only other person present was Ianto, acting as Lester's PA, carrying all relevant information in a sealed briefcase – as well as in his remarkable memory.

"So, to sum it up, we're looking for a psychopath from Victorian England, who can drive a car and seems perfectly at home in the twenty-first century," Lester summarized the facts for their boss.

"Which is suspicious, to the very least," Mr. Holmes studied one of the documents with a frown. "Lady Merchant says here he was from nineteen-oh-two. If so, perhaps he's got a police record. We should have it checked."

"Already done, sir," Ianto handed him another document. "There was indeed an Ethan Dobrowski at that time. He was a notorious anarchist, thought to be from Russia originally, though nobody seems very sure. He murdered at least half a dozen people before disappearing without a trace in nineteen-oh-two. His _modus operandi_ was to take over property near his victim, watch them for days, then move in and assassinate his target."

"Effective," Mr. Holmes raised an eyebrow. "That's how he knew Lady Merchant was alone, then. He must have been watching Anderson's flat."

Ianto nodded. "Yes, sir; and he may not have left yet. Captain Becker and Jess are running a security check on all Matt's neighbours, in case the subject is still there, lying low."

"He won't leave as long as Lady Merchant is here," Mr. Holmes looked at Lester. "I presume you were unsuccessful in persuading her to go back to her own time; or, at the very least, to rejoin her time-travelling companions."

"She refuses to go anywhere without this Ethan character," Lester replied sourly. "She feels it is her responsibility to take him back, too, since it was her whom he had followed to our time."

"Amendable," Mr. Holmes said dryly, "yet utterly stupid. It's our job to deal with Ethan Dobrowski – permanently.

"That's what _I_ told her," Lester sighed. "I told her that Dobrowski wasn't going anywhere – except straight to prison, as soon as we find him, but she's one stubborn woman."

"We have no legal ground to send Dobrowski to prison," Mr. Holmes reminded him. "At least none that could be disclosed to the public."

"Besides, I think he's the sort of criminal no prison can keep too long," Ianto added grimly. "His kind always finds a way to escape, and we would be back to Square One."

Lester gave him a troubled look. "Are you suggesting assassination? Cold-blooded murder?"

"Pest control," Ianto corrected coldly. "Some people are gone beyond the hope of rehabilitation; and for the sake of the rest of mankind, they need to be taken out."

"And who is to do the killing?" Lester asked dryly. "Are you volunteering, Mr. Jones?"

Ianto didn't back off. "If there's nobody else, I'd do it, yes. But I hoped Mr. Holmes would have minions for such jobs."

"I do," the shadow lord behind the British Government said. "And I have to agree with you. Which is why we should keep Lady Merchant close," he added for Lester. "She is our only real link to Dobrowski. You would better not let her out of your sight."

Lester nodded. "You're right, of course; but if she stays within reach, I shall have to inform Philip Burton. _And_ the Minister."

"What will that mean for her?" Ianto asked.

Lester shrugged. "It remains to be seen; but I shan't be able to protect her any longer."

"Torchwood can do that," Ianto said simply. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"True; but will Captain Harkness be _willing_ to do it?" Mr. Holmes asked doubtfully.

Ianto gave him his best receptionist smile. "Tosh and I are working on it, sir."

"Very well," Mr. Holmes said, after a moment of consideration. "Let's give it a try. And do not worry, James; _I'll_ deal with the Minister. That will be better for all parties involved."

"Thank you, sir," Lester replied with obvious relief.

Mr. Holmes nodded. "Keep me informed. And Mr. Jones," he added, stopping Ianto on his way out, "should you tire of Torchwood, I could always use a man of your talents in my personal staff."

"Thank you, sir," Ianto replied politely, "but I won't leave Torchwood as long as Jack needs me. And _that_ will be a very long time. Longer than _he_ believes anyway."

"Oh, I see," Mr. Holmes commented, sarcasm practically dripping from his words. "A case of undying love, then."

"Rather one of mutual dependence," Ianto corrected.

One Holmesian eyebrow climbed towards its owner's receding hairline. "And you find that healthy?"

"Nothing I've ever done since Canary Wharf has been even remotely healthy, sir," Ianto answered. " _Or_ particularly sane. That's Torchwood for you, I'm afraid."

This was one of the rare statements not even Mycroft Holmes had a ready-made answer for, so Ianto and Lester could leave the _Diogenes Club_ without further delay.

* * *

They got back to the ARC just in time to hear the alarm klaxons blaring.

"We've got an anomaly alert," Jess reported to Lester. "Hitting one-ninety, one hundred and fifty-nine miles, sending coordinates _now_."

Ianto called up Google maps on his Torchwood-issue PDA device. "Dyffryn House," he said. "Isn't that where Gwen's wedding was originally supposed to take place? Before they had to choose another location because of scheduling conflicts?"

"I have no idea," Jack admitted. "You were the one planning the whole thing. Well, let's gear up, boys and girls, it's Wales – we're going home. Again."

"Actually," Matt said, clearly annoyed by Jack's tendency to take over, "it's my team's turn."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And where _is_ your team if I may ask?"

"Connor is doing something scientific with Philip; they've been in the lab for hours," Jess reported before Matt could have said anything. "Becker has found a clue to the possible whereabouts of that Ethan character and went to investigate. I'm afraid you're on your own, Matt."

Jack gave them all a wide grin. "No, he isn't. Ianto and I'll go for Becker and we take Tosh with us to deal with the technology. She needs to get out from time to time, too."

But Tosh shook her head. "I'll better stay here, in case Becker runs into trouble. Jess is a technical wizard but not used to shooting people if necessary."

"Neither are you," Jack pointed out. "Not at humans anyway."

"I'm a field agent and you trained me well," Tosh replied. "I can and _will_ shoot a dangerous psychopath if I have to. Besides, I'll take the Torchwood stun gun; it can take out an elephant, and my reflexes are good."

"I know that," Jack sighed. "I'm just… I don't like you taking such risks. Not if there are professional soldiers to deal with the problem."

"I'll be careful, I promise," Tosh stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "Besides, it might not even be necessary for me to interfere. Now, go and deal with the anomaly – and take care!"

* * *

Ten minutes later two ARC vehicles were on their way to Dyffryn House, at a fairly breakneck speed – which was understandable, considering the fact that the first one was driven by Jack Harkness, for whom _speed limit_ was an unknown concept. With him in the care were Ianto and Matt, while the other car transported a team of four soldiers, just in case.

Thanks to Jack's suicidal driving style, they reached the stately home – extensively restored and now open to the public after a few turbulent decades – in less than three hours via the M4. Ianto had never been there before, and as Jack stopped the car, he couldn't help but admire the windows looking out over the driveway from the Hall, which depicted Elizabeth I. at Tilbury.

They were an impressive sight, just like the extensive gardens behind the mansion, that could be accessed via the admissions building, which also housed a shop and an attached tea-room. From there the gardens were divided into three main areas: the arboretum, Dyffryn House and its lawns, and the Garden Room.

Unfortunately, they were here on business, so Ianto couldn't go exploring, much as he'd have liked to do so. Getting out of the car, they went directly to the main entrance, located on the north side of the building, protected by a _porte-cochere_ , which led directly into the Hall. Before reaching that, though, there were a number of doors opening on either side of the hallway, leading to other rooms.

Matt contacted the ARC. "Jess, we're in the hallway with no signal. What have you got?"

"I'm just loading the floor plan now," Jess replied a little defensively. "I'm sending it to Ianto's PDA device."

A moment later the blueprint showed up on Ianto's little gizmo. There were as many as eight different rooms before reaching the Hall itself. The team split, everyone taking a guard with him, and they began to search the rooms in twos, one after another… and found them empty.

"Still nothing, Jess," Matt contacted the ARC again, frustration evident in his voice; he was way to impatient for retrieval jobs, Ianto found. "You got visual?"

"The anomaly is in the basement," Jess replied. "There's an entrance in the northwest corridor."

Matt and Jack exchanged looks and shrugged in unison.

"The basement it is," Jack said.

They left the soldiers to guard the entrances and went down to the basement, with weapons on the ready. It was a huge, dark room, full of wine racks and shelves, with plastic curtains serving as parturitions. It smelled vaguely of wine, too, which wasn't really surprising.

"This way," Matt said, consulting his scanner, but Jack didn't move, He was listening with tight concentration.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

Both Matt and Ianto shook their heads. After another moment of concentrated listening Jack shrugged again.

"Sorry. I thought I heard something."

It was entirely possible for him to hear noises that the average twenty-fourth century human would not, due to his advanced genetics and Time Agent training. However, he didn't want to reveal more than he absolutely had to about himself to Matt, of whose loyalties he still couldn't be entirely certain.

"Let's find the anomaly," was all he said.

After passing a couple of plastic curtains they found the anomaly indeed. It was one of the smaller ones, but still large enough for even a horse to pass through, and as mesmerising a sight as ever.

"No sign of creature incursion," Ianto stated, studying his PDA device; then he pocketed it and began packing out the anomaly-locking device. "Maybe we got here just in time for a change."

"Or maybe not," Matt replied, because just as Ianto expertly locked the anomaly, and eerie howling could be heard somewhere in the basement.

It had a vague reminiscence of dogs howling at the moon, which was definitely odd.

"Whatever it is, we need to find it," Jack said, and they went on to search the basement.

* * *

It was a spooky job, as the huge, dark room divided into identical parts by those bloody plastic curtains was like a labyrinth. Without his tracking device Ianto would have sworn that they were walking in circles. The growls of the creature came from a different direction each time, and _that_ didn't help with the orientation.

"It's stalking us!" Matt realized. "Form a circle, facing outwards!"

They stood back to back for maximum protection. There were creepy noises all around them, and Ianto felt his hackles rise.

"Jack…" he began, but Jack hushed him.

"Ssh… I'm trying to hear…" he broke off, grabbing Ianto and pushing him behind his back. Simultaneously, the high-energy whine of his weapon could be heard as he stunned the creature trying to jump them through an opening between plastic curtains.

"Male Hyaenodon," Matt declared, after a look at the… _thing_ that looked like some bizarre, oversized street dog. "And if there's one, the female can't be far, either. They hunt in packs, and the females are far stronger and more dangerous. We must find its mate."

"What about this one?" Ianto cautiously prodded the unconscious creature with the tip of his shoe. Should we reopen the anomaly and toss him through?"

"It can wait; it will be out like a light for at least six hours," Matt said. "Let's find the other one; we can herd them through the anomaly together."

"That sounds easier than it probably is," Jack commented. "Okay, try not to get separated; and set your weapons as high as possible."

Of course Jack just _had_ to jinx it for them all, Ianto thought, mildly irritated, when he promptly got separated from the others mere minutes later. The basement simply swallowed them all, or so it seemed, with its maze of plastic sheets and nonexistent illumination, Calling out loud to the others might have caught the attention of more prehistoric beasts, so he tried to find his way with the hope of his mobile phone – even though the light of the small screen was less than adequate – or by feeling along the walls.

The latter method finally led him to a wooden door that squeaked loudly when he tossed it open, but at least it allowed him into another room that seemed to be the actual wine cellar. He could see marginally better here; at least enough to make out the vague outline of a person through even more plastic sheets.

A person that was too small to be either Jack or Matt. Which could only mean that some sort of event was taking place in the house and a lot of people were endangered as a result. This was bad, really bad.

Ianto touched his earpiece and spoke as quietly as he could.

"Jack, Matt, I'm in the wine cellar… and I'm not alone here. There are people in the house – we need a new plan."

"Stay where you are," Jack's voice answered in his ear. "We're coming."

The person, whoever they were, clearly had good ears, because they picked up the near-whispered exchange.

"Oi!" they said. "Who's there?"

It was a female voice… a suspiciously familiar one. Ianto felt the first signs of a massive, stress-related headache coming up, though he still hoped that he _might_ be wrong.

"Identify yourself," he demanded in a crisp, official manner.

There was the kicking of high heels; then the woman pushed one of the plastic sheets to the side and Ianto was staring directly into the wide eyes of Gwen Cooper-Williams.

"Gwen," he said, too wary to be really surprised.

That was Gwen for you: like a bad penny, she always turned up at the most unpassing moment.

Gwen, on the other hand, was more than a little surprised to see him right there, right then. She opened and closed her mouth several times, making a rather convincing impression of a traumatized goldfish, but no sound was coming out of her throat… for now.

"Gwen!" That was Jack, blazing in, with Matt in tow.

His appearance finally woke Gwen from her shock, and she started backing off. "Oh, no, no, this can't be happening!"

"What are you doing here?" Jack asked.

"What am _I_ doing here?" she echoed. "What are _you_ doing here? How did you know I'm having my first wedding anniversary? Has Owen told you? Is this his stupid idea of a joke?"

"Your wedding anniversary?" Jack frowned. "Gosh, we've forgotten. Sorry, Gwen, I'll make up to you."

"But you're here and… oh my God, there's a Rift alert, isn't there? But how…? The Rift's been inactive since the three of you left…"

She trailed off helplessly, and for some reason Matt felt the need to introduce himself in that very moment. "I'm Matt Anderson…"

At any other time Gwen would have been very interested in meeting such a ruggedly handsome, mysterious stranger. Right now, she couldn't care less. She was panicking, plain and simple.

"What am I going to tell them?"

"Whom?" Jack asked.

Gwen glared at him accusingly. "My parents, Rhys's parents, our friends… everyone! As if it weren't bad enough that shape-shifting aliens crashed my wedding and ate the DJ and we had to Retcon everyone afterwards, now they've come to ruin my anniversary, too?"

"Actually, this time they're more like prehistoric hyenas," Ianto said blandly. "But we have the situation under control."

Which was a blatant lie, of course, but he would say anything, just to spare himself Gwen's histrionics. It might even have worked, had Matt not chosen this very moment to interfere – again.

"We really should clear the place for a day or two, till we know everything is safe," he said to Jack, ignoring Ianto's frantic signs to shut up.

Of course, Matt could not know that one didn't simply dismiss Gwen-bloody-Cooper; or try to stand in her way in any manner. Not if one valued one's manhood anyway.

Her eyes blazing with rightful indignation, she opened her mouth to tell off this insensitive stranger properly when Ianto smoothly interfered.

"Actually, I think we could search the rest of the property and keep an eye on things while Gwen and Rhys have their anniversary," he said. "What do _you_ think, Jack?"

Jack nodded. "Works for me."

Gwen's stance crumbled at once. "Oh, thank you, Jack! I'll just tell my mother… oh God, my mother! She's come down here to select a different sort of wine… Jack, we've got to find her!"

Her voice became increasingly shrill, as always when she got excited. Ianto saw Matt wince and suppressed a grin. One needed a lot of patience, not to mention strong nerves, to deal with the 'heart of Torchwood'

"We _will_ find her," Jack promised soothingly. "Don't worry. Go back to Rhys and your guests and we'll take care of things here."

Gwen teared up at once and hugged Jack thankfully – though just a tad longer than strictly necessary – before leaving. Matt stared after her with a frown.

"Isn't she celebrating her first wedding anniversary? He asked Ianto. "She's awfully chummy with Jack for a happily married woman."

"They've always had a special relationship," Ianto replied blandly.

Matt gave him a doubtful look. "And you don't mind?"

"I don't mind _what_?" Ianto pretended not having understood the hint.

Matt shook his head. "Look, I never mentioned, 'cause it isn't my business and frankly, I don't care, but a blind man can see that you and Jack have a thing going on. Body language doesn't lie."

"We do," Ianto admitted. "But it isn't some kind of fairytale love; certainly not the kind Gwen once hoped to have with him."

"What _is_ it then, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I do, actually; but I'm used to people being curious about us," Ianto said dryly. "It is mutual need lots of compromises, fear from loneliness and great sex. Are you happy now?"

"I'd be happier _not_ knowing," Matt muttered.

Ianto shrugged. "You asked. Now, let's find Mrs. Cooper before Gwen decides to pay us another visit; 'cause _that_ would have the potential to be really ugly."

~TBC~


End file.
